“Have you been set upon?” demanded Crewe. “Is that it?”
“Yes, that is it,” said Ravenscar.
“I hope it may not impair your skill with the ribbons!” said Filey.
“I hope not, indeed,” answered Ravenscar, with one of his derisive looks.
“Gad, Ravenscar, do you suppose it was an attempt to stop you driving tomorrow?” exclaimed a gentleman in an old fashioned bag-wig.
“Something of that nature, I fancy,” said Ravenscar, unable to resist an impulse to glance at Miss Grantham.
“What the devil do you mean by that, Horley?” demanded Sir James belligerently.
The gentleman in the bag-wig looked surprised. “Why, only that there has been a great deal of money laid on the race, and such things do happen! What should I mean?”
Filey’s high colour faded; he muttered something about having misunderstood, and swung out of the room, saying that he would try his luck at the hazard-table.
“What’s the matter with Filey?” inquired Crewe. “He’s become devilish bad-tempered all at once!”