“Oh!”
“The thing was, you see — ”
“You need not tell me,” Gervase interrupted, smiling. “I know very well what the thing was.”
He saw the flicker of fire in the eyes so swiftly meeting his own at these words. He held them in a steady regard, and after a moment they fell, and Martin uttered a self-conscious laugh, and said: “Yes — I suppose! The thing is, ought I, do you think, to say anything to her?”
“On that subject? By no means! Let it go!”
Martin looked relieved. He drained his glass, found the decanter at his elbow, and refilled the glass, saying: “Then you don’t think I should beg her pardon?”
“You would only cause her embarrassment.”
“I daresay you may be right.” Martin sipped his wine reflectively, and set his glass down again. “I wish that gray of yours had not cut his legs!” he said suddenly. “The most curst mischance! Can’t think how he came to do so!”
“Or how I came to be thrown so ignominiously?” suggested the Earl, watching him.
“Oh, there’s nothing in that! Everyone takes a stupid toss or so in his life! But your gray is a capital hunter! I would not have had him scar himself for a fortune!”