“I was passing Coldingham to-day,” he said. “I saw Winlow. He asked after you.”
“Ah! Winlow! His wife's a very nice woman. They've only the one child, I think?”
The Rector winced.
“Winlow tells me,” he said abruptly, “that George has sold his horse.”
The Squire's face changed. He glanced suspiciously at Mr. Barter, but the Rector was looking at his glass.
“Sold his horse! What's the meaning of that? He told you why, I suppose?”
The Rector drank off his wine.
“I never ask for reasons,” he said, “where racing-men are concerned. It's my belief they know no more what they're about than so many dumb animals.”
“Ah! racing-men!” said Mr. Pendyce. “But George doesn't bet.”
A gleam of humour shot into the Rector's eyes. He pressed his lips together.