At this moment a race, the last on the card, put a stop to further conversation, and Netty refused, very properly, to deprive Martin of the use of his field-glasses.
“I can see,” she said, in her confidential way, “well enough for myself with my own eyes.”
And Martin looked into the eyes, so vaunted, with much interest.
“I am sure,” she said to Wanda, when the race was over, “that I saw Mr. Cartoner a short time ago. Has he gone?”
“I fancy he has,” was the reply.
“He did not see us. And we quite forgot to tell him the number of our box. I only hope he was not offended. We saw a great deal of him on board. We crossed the Atlantic in the same ship, you know.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes. And one becomes so intimate on a voyage. It is quite ridiculous.”
Deulin, leaning against the pillar at the back of the box, was thoughtfully twisting his grizzled mustache as he watched Netty. There was in his attitude some faint suggestion of an engineer who has set a machine in motion and is watching the result with a contemplative satisfaction.
Martin was reluctantly making a move. One or two carriages were allowed to come to the gate of the lawn, and of these one was Prince Bukaty's.