"He died," said Daisy briefly.
Hunt-Goring looked bored, and the conversation languished.
Into the silence came Peggy, fairy-footed, gay of mien. She flung impulsive arms around her mother's neck and pressed a soft cheek coaxingly to hers.
"Mummy, Noel is comin' to teach me to ride this morning. I may go, mayn't I?"
"My darling!" said Daisy, in consternation. "He never said anything to me about it."
Peggy laughed, nodding her fair head with saucy assurance. "He promised,
Mummy."
"But, dearie," protested Daisy, "you can't ride Noel's horse. You'd be frightened, and so would Mummy."
Peggy laughed again, the triumphant laugh of one who possesses private information. "Noel wouldn't let me be frightened," she said, with confidence.
"Who is Noel?" asked Hunt-Goring.
Peggy looked at him. She was not quite sure that she liked this friend of her mother's, and her look said as much. "Noel is an officer," she said proudly. "He's the pwettiest officer in the Regiment, and I love him."