“In the garden with Mr. Cunningham; he came a few minutes ago; and he's got such a horse, father! A real beauty just like cocoa.”
“A roan,” said Donovan, laughing; then, as Ralph disappeared through the open door, he turned to the servant.
“Is it Mr. Cunningham of Blachingbury?”
“No, sir; Mr. Leslie Cunningham.”
Erica listened, not without interest, for she knew that Leslie Cunningham was the recently elected member for East Mountshire, the eldest son of Sir Michael Cunningham.
“We must come and find them,” said Donovan; and together they went out into the garden.
Here, on one of the broad, grassy terraces, under the shade of a copper-beech, was afternoon tea on a wicker table. Gladys was talking to Mr. Cunningham, but catching sight of her husband and Erica at the other end of the terrace, she hurried forward to greet them.
“This is delightful!” she exclaimed. “I hoped that Donovan might unceremoniously carry you off today, but hardly dared to expect it. You are just in time for tea.”
“Your arrival has caused quite a sensation in the nursery,” said Donovan to Leslie Cunningham. “My small boy is in raptures over your horse 'just like cocoa!'”
Leslie gave rather an absent laugh. He was watching Erica, who was still at a little distance talking to Gladys.