He had to pass by Fanny Fitz on his way out of the hall. There was something vexed and forlorn about him, and, being sympathetic, she perceived it, though not its cause.
“You’re deserting us!” she said, looking up at him.
“I have an appointment,” he said stiffly, his glance evading hers, and resting on Captain Carteret’s well-clipped little black head.
Some of Fanny’s worst scrapes had been brought about by her incapacity to allow any one to part from her on bad terms, and, moreover, she liked Rupert Gunning. She cast about in her mind for something conciliatory to say to him.
“When are you going to show me the cob that you bought at the Horse Show?”
The olive branch thus confidently tendered had a somewhat withering reception.
“The cob I bought at the Horse Show?” Mr. Gunning repeated with an increase of rigidity, “Oh, yes—I got rid of it.”
He paused; the twanging of Captain Carteret’s banjo bridged the interval imperturbably.
“Why had you to get rid of it?” asked Fanny, still sympathetic.
“She was a failure!” said Rupert vindictively; “I made a fool of myself in buying her!”