After a few more words, they passed on.
“A gallant old soul!” Margot observed.
Lady Pomfret nodded, saying reflectively—
“I think I must pray for young Charley Parish.”
Margot considered this.
“If you do,” she predicted, “he will carry out his bat.”
By the time they had circled the field, Joyce and Moxon had arrived. The Professor was duly presented to her little ladyship, who engaged him forthwith in talk, strolling on with him, whilst Joyce sat by Lady Pomfret. Moxon’s face and figure pleased Margot. He looked that happy combination, a man of thought and action. His grey eyes were clear as his complexion; the nose was delicately modelled; his chin indicated resolution. When he smiled, he showed white even teeth. Margot said easily—
“Lionel Pomfret has talked to me about you. He is rather absorbent. I managed to squeeze your ideas out of him. They interested me, although they conflict with my own.”
Moxon showed some surprise.
“Ideas, Lady Margot? What do you conceive to be my ideas?”