There was something commonplace about the young warrior's manner of expressing himself in daily life which accorded ill with the refined beauty of his face.
"They would be dear at the price," said John, still looking out.
"Care killed a cat," said Archie.
He had a stock of small sayings of that calibre. Sometimes they fitted the occasion, and sometimes not.
There was a short silence.
"Quicksilver is lame," said Archie.
"What have you been doing with her?" asked John, facing round.
"Nothing in particular. I rode her in the Pierpoint steeplechase last week, and she came down at the last fence, and lost me fifty pounds. I came in third, but I should have been first to a dead certainty if she had stood up."
"Send her down here at once."
"Yes, and thanks awfully and all that sort of thing for lending her, don't you know. Very good of you, though of course you could not use her yourself when you were laid up. I am going back to town first thing to-morrow morning; only got a day's leave to run down here; thought I ought to tell you about her. I'll send her off the day after to-morrow if you like, but the truth is——"