“Well, I will,” he said; and the conversation ended.
During the intervening days Trevor was too much excited to say anything to Mrs Lloyd. He called at Tolcarne twice, but the ladies were out. He tried every walk in the neighbourhood, but without avail; and at last, blaming himself bitterly for his neglect of his guests, and thinking that the opportunity he sought must come on the Friday, he determined to try and make up for the past by attending to Vanleigh and Landells.
“I’ll talk to Lady Rea about it—that’s; how I’ll manage,” he said. “She’s a good, motherly soul, and will set me right, I’m sure. I know—tell her I want advice and counsel; ask her to help me counteract Mrs Lloyd’s designs.”
Trevor laughed over what he considered the depth of his plans, and after dinner that night was in excellent spirits, losing thirty guineas to Vanleigh in a cheery way that made Pratt shudder for his recklessness, and bite his lips with annoyance at the cool manner in which the money was swept up.
“By the way,” said Trevor, as they sat smoking, “what do you say to a sail to-morrow?—the yacht’s in trim now, and the weather delightful.”
“Thanks—no,” said Vanleigh. “I don’t think we can go, eh, Landells?”
“Jove!—no; drive, you know, with the old gentleman.”
Trevor looked inquiringly from one to the other.
“Fact is,” said Vanleigh, coolly, “Sir Hampton Rea has asked us to join him in a little picnic excursion to the north coast—drive over, you know, to-morrow. Yes, Thursday,” he said, looking at his little note-book—one which usually did duty for betting purposes—“Yes, Thursday, and Friday we all dine there, of course.”
“Yes, of course,” said Trevor, in a quiet, constrained way, which made Sir Felix, who had already felt rather hot and confused, colour like a girl.