Off they went along the road, which gleamed softly white in the starlight. A breeze blew in their faces, bearing the sweet and heavy scent of night flowers.
“Napier,” said James Vincey, “I’m much obliged to you. Missed my footing. It might have ended badly for me. Very much obliged to you, my boy!”
“You didn’t miss your footing,” contradicted Napier in a very low voice. “You—”
“My boy,” interrupted Captain Vincey, equally low, “it’s necessary in this life to take a good deal for granted. When you reach my age, you’ll probably have learned”—he paused a moment—“probably have learned to take it for granted that almost every man has a white streak in him. Now we’ll say no more about it, if you please!”
The horse’s hoofs rang loud and brisk in the quiet night. As they passed the door of the club, two men were coming out.
“Who’s that?” asked one of them.
“By jove, it’s Vincey and that new chap—rolling home!”
“Ha! I saw them having a few drinks in the club.”
“Oh, well!” said the other indulgently.
Napier and Vincey both heard the conversation.