“There was John Rolfe,” said Mr. Carteret; “he was a very well known chap.”
“Do you know him?” asked Mrs. Brawle.
The curate sniggered. His hour of triumph had come. “Rolfe is dead,” he said.
“Really!” said Mrs. Brawle, coldly. “It had quite slipped my mind. You see I never read the papers during the hunting. But is his wife received?”
“I believe that she was,” said Mr. Carteret.
The curate was still sniggering and Mrs. Brawle put her glass in her eye and looked at him. Then she turned to Mr. Carteret. “But all this,” she said, “of course, has nothing to do with the question. Do you think that these red Indians could ride bareback across our country?”
“As I said before,” replied Mr. Carteret, “it would be silly of me to express an opinion, but I should be interested in seeing them try it.”
“I have a topping idea!” cried Lord Frederic. He was an enthusiastic, simple-minded fellow.
“You must tell us,” exclaimed Mrs. Ascott-Smith.