“What one doesn’t remember, doesn’t trouble one,” observed the girl. “In a sense it hasn’t happened.” She paused and then went on with a carelessness that was a little overdone: “What did happen, anyway? The usual things, I fancy? I suppose somebody picked me up and brought me home.”
Mr. Carteret’s face was a mask.
“But you remember that!” exclaimed Mrs. Ascott-Smith.
“I don’t remember anything,” said Miss Rivers, “until one evening I woke up in bed and heard the rooks calling in the park.”
“My dear,” said Mrs. Ascott-Smith, “you said good-by to him in the hallway, and thanked him, and then you walked up-stairs with a footman at your elbow.”
“That is very strange,” said Miss Rivers. “I don’t remember. Who was it that I said good-by to? Whom did I thank?”
Mr. Carteret walked toward the window as if he were watching the pheasant that was strutting across the lawn.
Mrs. Ascott-Smith folded her cards in her hand and looked at the girl in amazement. “Mr. Carteret found you in a field,” she said, “not far from Crumpelow Hill and brought you home. You said good-by to him.”
At the mention of Mr. Carteret’s name the girl’s hand felt for the back of a chair, as if to steady herself. Then, as the color rushed into her face, aware of it, she stepped back into the shadow. Mrs. Ascott-Smith continued to gaze. Presently Miss Rivers turned to Mr. Carteret. “This is a surprise to me,” she said in a voice like ice. “How much I am in your debt, you better than any one can understand.”
He turned as if a blow had struck him, and looked at her. Her eyes met his unflinchingly, colder than her words, withering with resentment and contempt. Mrs. Ascott-Smith opened her cards again and began to count: “Tierce to the king and a point of five,” she muttered vaguely. Her mind and the side glance of her eyes were upon the girl and the young man. What did it mean? “A point of five,” she repeated.