The tail of his sentence was lost in Julia’s clear voice.
“Bess and I are going in the ‘red devil,’” she announced. Thus a queen might proclaim her progression.
The blooming, blonde creature included in this edict threw a nervous glance at Thair. But he was all amiable irony.
“You are the leading conspirator for my happiness.” He bowed across to Julia.
Florence divined who might be expected to fill the fourth place in the automobile. It might have been that possibility which ruffled Cissy Fitz Hugh’s forehead. But Cissy’s endeavors never failed from lack of confidence.
“Well, really,” she observed pathetically, “it’s such a magnificent morning, I think I shall make one effort to ride over. Don’t you think it’s an ideal morning for a gallop?” She appealed to Longacre.
“Well, you make it seem so,” he said, with one of his gentle, misleading looks. It misled both Cissy and Julia. It left one complaisant, the other a little more like a princess than usual. But Florence knew just what that look signified. When he was going to escape he was always like that. Unconcerned about the little arrangements of life, he habitually took them as they were offered, but Florence knew he had no idea of riding over as Cissy’s escort.
She suspected he had lost the chance of a fourth place in Julia’s arrangement. How he intended to escape Cissy she guessed from his look at herself, questioning her.
She gave him a vague, inquiring smile, and turned to answer Thair. She knew Longacre would speak to her after breakfast. He did. In the general exodus to the veranda she found him at her elbow, a little quizzical, a little puzzled.
“Are we going to gallop over together?” he asked, as if he were stating a certainty.