“But could I not call on you to-morrow?” said Peregrine.
“My good boy, is your engagement in Worthing so pressing that you cannot spare me half an hour? To-morrow might suit you better, but it would be highly inconvenient to me. I am going to the races.”
“Oh well!” sighed Peregrine. “I suppose I must come then, if you make such a point of it.”
The Earl felt his horses’ mouths with a movement of his long fingers on the reins. “I have often had it in mind to ask you, Peregrine, why your father omitted to send you up to Oxford,” he remarked. “It would have done you so much good.”
Peregrine reddened, turned his horse, and followed rather sulkily in the wake of the phaeton.
The house which Worth rented on the Steyne stood on the corner of St. James’s Street, and had the advantage of a yard and stables to the rear. Worth led the way into the cobbled alley that ran behind the house, drove his phaeton into the yard, and got down. Henry scrambled from his perch and took charge of the horses, just as Peregrine’s tilbury entered the yard.
“You had better tell your man to take the horses into the stable,” said the Earl, stripping off his gloves.
“I thought he might as well walk them up and down,” objected Peregrine: “I shall not be as long as that, surely?”
“Just as you please,” shrugged the Earl. “They are not my horses.”
“Oh, very well, do as his lordship says, Tyler,” said Peregrine, climbing down from his seat. “I shall want them again in half an hour, mind!”