“Somebody, perhaps. It needn’t be a fool.”
He spoke savagely, and Claudia wondered why. His sister made haste to change the subject.
“Remember, Claudia, that there is the polo match this afternoon. We must go.”
The girl flung an imploring glance at Fenwick.
“You?” she said inquiringly.
“I can’t,” he returned. “I’m going to try a little bicycling of the most feeble description to suit a cripple.”
“Oh,” she cried eagerly, “do let me come! The Marchmonts said I could always have one of their bicycles, and it would be delightful. Please, Arthur!”
She went close to him, and he played with the frill of her sleeve.
“Delightful, but not to be done. I hate to see women bicycling about these places.”
“But,” she urged, “you used to go with the Marchmonts. They told me so.”