“Will you go too, Mrs. Huntington?” Smythe said, as Marion emerged from her room.
Claire looked at Marion, and wondered at the whiteness of her face, and the haunted look in her eyes. Nothing had been said, but she saw there was something.
“No, thank you!” she said promptly. “The house suits me this morning.”
Smythe and Marion walked up the hill toward the tree where Marion had practised shooting. Until they reached it neither spoke.
“Well?” said Marion, turning suddenly on him.
“Sunnysides has got away.”
“And he?” she cried.
“Thrown, but not hurt.”
She stared at him a moment, dazed. Then she threw back her head, and clasped her hands on her breast.