"No," said the Countess, "he has just called. It was his card they brought me just as you came. He wants me to drive with him this afternoon."
"Indeed. Shall you go?"
"I think so—yes," said she.
"Very well. I will take my sister with me," said the Duke. "I have got something very decent to drive in." Margaret laughed at the implied invitation.
"How you take things for granted," said she. "Did you really think I would have gone with you?"
"Such things have happened," said the Duke good-humouredly, and went away. Not being in the least a ladies' man, he was very apt to make such speeches occasionally. He had a habit of taking it for granted that no one refused his invitations.
At four o'clock that afternoon Silas B. Barker junior drew up to the steps of the hotel in a very gorgeous conveyance, called in America a T-cart, and resembling a mail phaeton in build. From the high double box Mr. Barker commanded and guided a pair of showy brown horses, harnessed in the most approved philanthropic, or rather philozooic style; no check-rein, no breeching, no nothing apparently, except a pole and Mr. Barker's crest. For Mr. Barker had a crest, since he came from Salem, Massachusetts, and the bearings were a witch pendant, gules, on a gallows sinister, sable. Behind him sat the regulation clock-work groom, brought over at considerable expense from the establishment of Viscount Plungham, and who sprang to the ground and took his place at the horses' heads as soon as Barker had brought them to a stand. Then Barker, arrayed in a new hat, patent-leather boots, a very long frock-coat, and a very expensive rose, descended lightly from his chariot and swiftly ascended the steps, seeming to tread half on air and half on egg-shells. And a few minutes later he again appeared, accompanied by the Countess Margaret, looking dark and pale and queenly. A proud man was dandy Silas as he helped her to her place, and going to the other side, got in and took the ribbands. Many were the glances that shot from the two edges of the road at the unknown beauty whom Silas drove by his side, and obsequious were the bows of Silas's friends as they passed. Even the groggy old man who drives the water-cart on Bellevue Avenue could scarce forbear to cheer as she went by.
And so they drove away, side by side. Barker knew very well that Claudius had taken his leave the day before, and to tell the truth, he was a good deal surprised that Margaret should be willing to accept this invitation. He had called to ask her, because he was not the man to let the grass grow under his feet at any time, much less when he was laying siege to a woman. For with women time is sometimes everything. And being of a reasonable mind, when Mr. Barker observed that he was surprised, he concluded that there must be some good reason for his astonishment, and still more that there must be some very good reason why Margaret should accept his first invitation to a tête-à-tête afternoon. From one reflection to another, he came at last to the conclusion that she must be anxious to learn some details concerning the Doctor's departure, from which again he argued that Claudius had not taken her into his confidence. The hypothesis that she might be willing to make an effort with him for Claudius's justification Mr. Barker dismissed as improbable. And he was right. He waited, therefore, for her to broach the subject, and confined himself, as they drove along, to remarks about the people they passed, the doings of the Newport summer, concerning which he had heard all the gossip during the last few hours, the prospect of Madame Patti in opera during the coming season, horses, dogs, and mutual friends—all the motley array of subjects permissible, desultory, and amusing. Suddenly, as they bowled out on an open road by the sea, Margaret began.
"Why has Dr. Claudius gone abroad," she asked, glancing at Barker's face, which remained impenetrable as ever. Barker changed his hold on the reins, and stuck the whip into the bucket by his side before he answered.
"They say he has gone to get himself sworn to," he said rather slowly, and with a good show of indifference.