“Tell me,” she went on in her soft, delightfully modulated voice, “aren’t you interested with Mr. Barclay in some farms?”
“We own two ranches together,” said Mr. Carteret.
“Yes, that was it,” said Lady Withers; “and you raise horses on them?”
Mr. Carteret apprehended what was coming. “Yes; ranch horses,” he said dryly.
“And such good ones, as Mr. Barclay was telling me,” said Lady Withers. “He made me quite enthusiastic with his account of it all, and he is so anxious to have dear Cecil manage them in England; but before Cecil decides one way or the other I want your advice.”
Mr. Carteret looked at her and stroked his mustache. His opportunity to save Barclay had come. “My advice would be worth very little,” he said; “but I can give you all the facts, and of course Barclay—well, he can’t.”
A shade of apprehension crossed Lady Withers’s face. “And why not?” she demanded.
“I should rather not go into that,” said Mr. Carteret. “Of course the great objection to the scheme is that it would be unprofitable for Mr. Granvil, because no one would buy our horses.”
“But wouldn’t they,” said Lady Withers, “if they were good ones?”