“I suppose,” she remarked, “that he is more of a celebrity than ever now!”
“Much more,” he answered. “If he chooses he will be the lion of the season! By the by, you had nothing of interest from Fred?”
She shook her head impatiently.
“Nothing but praises! According to Fred, he's a hero!”
“I hate him,” Davenant said sulkily.
“And so,” she answered softly, “do I! Do you see him coming, Cecil?”
“In good company too,” the young man laughed bitterly.
A little group of men, before whom every one fell back respectfully, were strolling through the paddock towards the horses. Amongst them was Royalty, and amongst them also was Scarlett Trent. But when he saw the girl in the white foulard smile at him from the paling he forgot etiquette and everything else. He walked straight across to her with that keen, bright light in his eyes which Fred had described so well in his letter.
“I am very fortunate,” he said, taking the delicately gloved hand into his fingers, “to find you so soon. I have only been in England a few hours.”
She answered him slowly, subjecting him the while to a somewhat close examination. His face was more sunburnt than ever she had seen a man's, but there was a wonderful force and strength in his features, which seemed to have become refined instead of coarsened by the privations through which he had passed. His hand, as she had felt, was as hard as iron, and it was not without reluctance that she felt compelled to take note of his correct attire and easy bearing. After all he must be possessed of a wonderful measure of adaptability.