“I made straight for the middle of the road, didn’t I? If there had been a runaway I should have stopped it?”
Vibart looked at him in surprise.
“You would have tried to, undoubtedly, unless I’d had time to drag you away.”
Mr. Carstyle straightened his narrow shoulders.
“There was no hesitation, at all events? I—I showed no signs of—avoiding it?”
“I should say not, sir; it was I who funked it for you.”
Mr. Carstyle was silent: his head had dropped forward and he looked like an old man.
“It was just my cursed luck again!” he exclaimed suddenly in a loud voice.
For a moment Vibart thought that he was wandering; but he raised his head and went on speaking in more natural tones.
“I daresay I appeared ridiculous enough to you just now, eh? Perhaps you saw all along that the horses weren’t running? Your eyes are younger than mine; and then you’re not always looking out for runaways, as I am. Do you know that in thirty years I’ve never seen a runaway?”