They thanked him for the invitation. Gilbert promised, unconditionally, to go, and that soon. Michael said he would try; he would go as soon as he had time.
‘You see,’ observed Gilbert, turning to Otho, with a worthy, benevolent air, ‘his time is not all his own. There’s a lady in the case.’
‘Oh, indeed! You are engaged?’ asked Otho.
‘Yes,’ said Michael.
‘To some one here?’
‘Yes. To Miss Wynter—Magdalen Wynter. She was at the meet this morning with an elderly lady. I was standing by their carriage for a good while.’
‘That exceedingly handsome girl, who drove those white ponies so cleverly? She had black hair, and a very knowing sort of fur cap,’ Otho said, looking at Michael with interest.
Michael smiled slightly. What a curious way in which to describe his beautiful and somewhat unapproachable Magdalen, was the thought in his mind.
‘The same,’ he answered, ‘though it would never have occurred to me to describe the cap as “knowing.”’
‘Oh, wasn’t it, though!’ said Otho emphatically. ‘Well, I congratulate you. She is exceedingly handsome. There wasn’t another woman there who came anywhere near her. It won’t do to be exacting in your case,’ he went on, with his dubious smile; ‘but, all the same, you will be very welcome if you come.’