"No. If he didn't like him, he wouldn't take the trouble," says she, nonchalantly. She is evidently a little distrait. She looks as though she wanted something.
"You won your game?" says her sister, smiling at her.
"Yes, quite a glorious victory. They had only two games out of the six; and you know Miss Connor plays very well."
"Where is Mr. Beauclerk?"
"Gone into the house to write some letters and telegrams."
"Norman, do you mean?" asks Lady Baltimore, coming up at this moment, her basket full of flowers, and minus the little son and the heiress; "he has just gone into the house to hear Miss Maliphant sing. You know she sings remarkably well, and that last song of Milton Wettings suits her so entirely. Norman is very fond of music. Have you had a game, Joyce?"
"Yes, and won it," says Joyce, smiling back at her, though her face has paled a little. Had she won it?
"Well, I must take these into the house before they fade. Righton wants them for the dinner-table," says Lady Baltimore. A little hurried note has crept into her voice. She turns away somewhat abruptly. Lord Baltimore and Lady Swansdown have just appeared in view, Lady Swansdown with a huge bunch of honeysuckle in her hand, looking very picturesque.
Baltimore, seeing his wife move towards the house, and Lady Swansdown displaying the spoils of her walk to Dysart, darts quickly after her.
"Let me carry that burden for you," says he, laying his hand upon the basket of flowers.