The firelight suddenly ceased to gleam upon the gray eyes. They were turned toward the floor.
“That is very nice,” said Lady Withers, arranging her cards; “but you mustn’t let me detain you. You know they might just miss a steamer.”
“I’m off,” said Mr. Carteret, and he left the room.
The party at Mrs. Ascott-Smith’s dispersed next day. Mr. Carteret went back to his own house, which he had done over in the American manner, to get warm, and to have a bath in a porcelain tub. Barclay returned with him to nurse his collar-bone. As he was unable to hunt, he went to the meets in a motor, and watched for the slim little figure in the weather-beaten habit. What he saw neither cheered nor reassured him.
“It is very natural,” he said gloomily to Mr. Carteret, “but there are at least a dozen men after her. Besides Sikes, there were four guardsmen who rode to cover with her, and then old Lord Watermere butted in. He’s looking for a third wife. You know yourself that when a man pays any attention to a woman out hunting it’s because he likes her.”
“I don’t know what their intentions are,” said Mr. Carteret; “but as far as I am concerned, you have three weeks less one day in which to propose to her. I want to do the fair thing,” he continued, “and I advise you that the psychological moment would be while the collar-bone is a novelty. There is an American buggy in the stable, and an American trotting horse that drives with one hand. Verb sap.”
“But it isn’t done in England,” said Barclay.
“Buggy-riding,” said Mr. Carteret, “or its equivalent, is done wherever there is a man of spirit and a young lady with intuitions. The trouble with you,” he went on, “is that you are too modest on the one hand and too self-important on the other. If you are not good enough for the girl, you needn’t fear that Lady Withers will give you the preference over Sikes. This is the last advice I’m going to give. Henceforth I act on my own account.”
Barclay smiled doubtfully, but said nothing.