Barclay took the note and read:
Dear Mr. Carteret:
You will doubtless not be surprised at my request that you remove your horses at once from my stables. It is a disappointment to me that an unforeseen change in my plans makes it impossible for me to have you and Mr. Barclay at Crumpeton this week.
Sincerely yours,
Constantia Granvil Withers.
“It’s Sikes,” said Barclay.
“It may be,” said Mr. Carteret. “I ought to have taken the matter into my own hands a week ago.”
“You don’t mean you are in earnest?” said Barclay.
“You will very soon find out,” said Mr. Carteret. “I have no false delicacy about proposing to a lady merely because I’m not sure she’s in love with me.”
At ten o’clock the next morning he and Barclay were sitting in the motor in front of Crumpeton, while a footman explained that the ladies were at the stables and Major Hammerslea was with them. Mr. Carteret told the chauffeur to go to the stables, and there they got out. Standing saddled on the floor of an open box-stall was a showy-looking chestnut thoroughbred horse. As was only natural, the occupants of the motor stopped to examine him, and Mr. Carteret gave an exclamation of surprise. “If I am not mistaken,” he said, “that is one of our Prince Royal colts.” He looked carefully at the inside of the foreleg just below the armpit, and found a small brand. “It is,” he announced. “By Jove! he is a good-looker!”
While he was doing this, Lady Withers’s stud groom, Tripp, came out and touched his cap. “’E’s a nice one, sir,” said Tripp.
“He is,” said Mr. Carteret. “Is the other one as good?”