“Would you mind opening the window a little more, Mrs Sarson?” said Chris, as he drove the Prince’s horse right out of his mind; and races, jockeys, grand stands, and even Glyddyr faded from his heated brain.
“Certainly, sir. And what a lovely evening it is—beautiful. Hah! there goes that Mr Glyddyr’s boat off to his yacht; and there’s Mr Gartram in it, and the young ladies. Going for an evening sail, I suppose.”
Chris dropped his knife and fork upon his plate.
“Bless me!” ejaculated the landlady, turning sharply round.
“Nothing, nothing, Mrs Sarson,” said Chris hastily; “that will do now. I’ll ring. Don’t wait.”
The landlady looked at him curiously, and left the room; and as soon as she was gone, Chris sprang from his chair, took a binocular glass from where it hung in its case against the wall, focussed it, and fixed it upon the smart gig being rowed out on the bright water.
“I’ve fought all I knew, and I’m beaten,” he muttered, as he saw Glyddyr leaning towards Claude, and talking to her. “Every man has his temptations, and the best and strongest fall if the temptation is too strong. I am only a poor, weak, blundering sort of fellow, I suppose; and I’ve fallen—low—very low indeed.
“Claude, my darling!” he groaned, as he lowered the glass and gazed wistfully out toward the boat, “if it were some good, true fellow whom you loved, and I was going to see you happy, I’d try and bear it all like a man. But you can’t be happy with a fast scoundrel like that; and you love me. I know, I’m sure you do, and I’d do anything to save you from such a fate.”
He pitched the glass on to the sofa, took a time table from where it lay, and, after satisfying himself as to the hours of the trains, he went quickly towards the door, just as it was opened and Mrs Sarson appeared.
“There, my dear,” she said, holding up a large glass dish; “there’s a junket of which any woman might be proud, and—”