"I much prefer the English fashion," retorted Lucy, irritably.
"How d' ye like him, Vincent?" asked his cousin, as the horse broke into a canter.
"Very well."
"The fellow knows his business, I think," observed Will Paca, dryly.
"His business!—You don't think—" Trevor raised his brows.
Paca shrugged.
"I protest, Will!" cried Charles Fairfield, warmly. "The man is a gentleman. I stake my oath on it. I've played with him, and I know."
"Oh—I ask pardon. I did not know your acquaintance was intimate," rejoined the other at once, with a proper manner, and Fairfield was satisfied. At the same time he felt a light touch on his arm, and, turning, he found Deborah looking at him with a light in her eyes.
"I'm so glad you said it," she whispered. "He is a gentleman."
But, while Fairfield carried her hand to his lips, he felt, in some way, that her speech had not brought him unmitigated pleasure.