“This is the man called Pritchard?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How is Lord Carthew?”
“Better.”
“Did you shoot him accidentally?”
“Partly.”
“Explain yourself.”
“You have often told me to keep off tramps and trespassers and such like,” the man answered, with a forced and rather sullen civility. “Lord Carthew stopped Miss Cranstoun’s horse and seemed to be annoying her. I fired to frighten him and he got hurt.”
“Ah!”
Sir Philip paused for a moment. His eyes followed the retreating figures of Lord Carthew and Stella as, with their heads inclined together in converse, they rode on together to a bend in the avenue between the trees. Then he turned to Stephen, his face set and mask-like as usual.