“Oh, I remember,” said Lord Gawdor. “I heard granny telling Mrs O’Farrell that poor Mr Boxall was coming on a visit, and that he’d got a glass eye. Miss Lestrange!”
“Yes, Bob?”
“Which of his eyes is glass?”
“I don’t know,” replied Miss Lestrange. “Let us talk of something else. Doris, how is your grandmother?”
“She’s all right,” said Doris. “Just the same. Bob kicked his football through the window the other day, and she kept us prisoners in the schoolroom two days, and we wouldn’t have been let go to the meet this morning only for Mr Fanshawe.”
“Who is Mr Fanshawe?” asked Miss Lestrange, with a sudden interest in her voice.
“Jolliest chap you ever met,” cut in Lord Gawdor; “isn’t he, Doris?”
“Rather!” replied Doris.
“And he gave Patsy half a crown,” went on Lord Gawdor—“this is Patsy driving—He’s off hunting this morning. My! can’t he ride? And hasn’t he some fine horses?”
“What is he like?” asked Miss Lestrange.