“Very well.”
She drew up by a clump of trees, and waited for the barouche to come alongside. Lady Mablethorpe, impressive in a lavender bonnet, with upstanding plumes, leaned forward to exclaim: “My dear, surely that is a very dangerous carriage for you to be driving! I wonder you will let her, Max!”
“She will come to no harm,” he replied carelessly.
“I suppose you thought the same about Adrian, when you took him racing with you yesterday!” said her ladyship tartly.
His rare smile lighted his eyes suddenly. “Why, yes, ma’am, I did!”
“I think it was abominable of you! He might have been killed! I know what these curricle-races are! Next we shall have him wanting to drive in one himself!”
“I should not be at all surprised. You cannot keep him on leading-strings all his life, you know.”
She sighed. “No, but—Well, it does not signify! I must tell you, Max, that I am in hopes that a certain affair is waning.”
“Indeed! I am very glad to hear it, but what leads you to think so?”
“He has gone off to Tom Waring’s place in Berkshire for some shooting. He was in spirits too; I could see he was glad to be going. You may guess how thankful I feel!”