Suddenly his figure caught her eye.
'Major Desmond, pray pardon me; I did not hear you announced.'
'I fear, Miss Collingwood'—he could not at that moment trust himself to say 'Clare'—'that I intrude upon your privacy,' and the nearest approach to anger and surprise that the usually imperturbable and impassive Desmond could permit himself to manifest appeared in his face when he saw her, with a rapidity, and even with something of alarm, which she could not or cared not to conceal, thrust the recently addressed envelope into the Marguerite pouch—the same in which Trevor Chute had seen her place a note from Desmond on the coaching day; but that referred only to a bet of gloves and the coming Derby.
All this seemed terribly unwonted, and the deduction instantly drawn by the tall guardsman was that a note thus concealed was not intended for one of her own sex.
'You do not intrude,' said Clare, timidly, yet composedly. 'I am, as you see, quite alone—my sisters have gone to the Park.'
Desmond was too well bred to make any direct allusion either to Clare's emotion or the matter of the note, to which that emotion gave an importance it otherwise could not merit; but he was nevertheless anxious for some light on the episode.
'You dined with papa yesterday?' said Clare, after a pause.
'I had to deny myself that pleasure, being otherwise engaged; but he had an old friend with him,' replied Desmond, tugging his moustache as he accentuated the word; 'and I have come here with his express permission,' he added; but instead of seating himself, he drew very near, and bent over her, with tenderness in his tone and manner.
'Express permission?' repeated Clare, lifting her clear, bright eyes composedly to his.
'Yes—to take you out for a ride; we may join Sir Carnaby and my sister, who——'