Valerie laughed merrily.
"Poor little dog," she said. "It was enough to——"
"I say, Val, did I leave my flask in the car?"
The two had been too much absorbed to observe the return of the fresh-faced youngster, and the latter's words cut their communion short, much as the sudden rasp of curtain-rings scatters the rear of slumber. It was providential that the world was moving again. The suspension of perpetual motion would have been bound to excite remark. As it was, the new-comer was upon the very edge of staring, when—
"Let me introduce Mr. Every—Major Lyveden," said Valerie. The two men nodded mechanically and murmured politeness. "Yes, you did, Peter. Here you are." She plucked the lost property from the bowels of the seat and rose to restore it. "By the way," she added adroitly, "now's your chance. Major Lyveden'll tell you whether you ought to wash a horse's legs."
Thus appealed to—
"Unless," said Anthony, "you've got a groom in a million, I shouldn't advise it. It means mud-fever."
"There you are," said Valerie, doubly triumphant.
The youth's face was a study. Respect was fairly bundling Astonishment out of the way. Anthony had spoken as one having authority, and Every was visibly impressed.
"You really think so, sir?"