"They're real selfish things!" he laughed. "When you're motoring, you don't care a hang for that sort of thing. You just go tearing along—monarch of all you survey."
"And—dogs?"
He smiled. "I've never run over one yet, unless they die like martyrs without a groan."
"Well, they may be useful," she conceded. "But the feeling can't be anything like the glory of a gallop—a canter—"
"No, it isn't. Nothing can come anywhere near a decent mount, and a good stretch of country before you."
They fell silent for a while.
Nell, furtively studying him, as he sat forward in his chair looking into the fire, broke out at last.
"Mr. Lancaster, you've no business to look so—so pale—so done up!"
He flushed.
"Do I? Overwork, perhaps."