"I ought to, by this time!" She made tenderly apologetic eyes at him. "But I'm afraid I'm incurable. Don't be angry, Sir Galahad! You've won the Kohinoor; and although you seem to live in the clouds, you've had the sense to make things pukka straightaway. 'Understandings' and private engagements are the root of all evil!"
"I'm blest if I know what you're driving at!" he flashed out, his temper rising.
But she only laughed her tinkling laugh and shook her riding-whip at him.
"Souvent femme varie! Have you ever heard that, you blessed innocent? And the general impression is—there's already been one private engagement—if not more. I was trying to tell you that afternoon to save your poor fingers——"
"It's all rot—spiteful rot!" The pain of increasing conviction made Roy careless of his manners. "The women are jealous of her beauty, so they invent any tale that's likely to be swallowed——"
"Possibly, my dear boy. But I can't tell my neighbours to their faces that they lie! After all, if you win a beautiful girl of six-and-twenty you've got to swallow the fact, with a good grace, that there must have been others; and thank God you're IT—if not the only IT that ever was on land or sea!—After that maternal homily, allow me to congratulate you. I've already congratulated her, de mon plein cœur!"
"Thanks very much. More than I deserve!" said Roy, only half mollified. "But I'm afraid I must hurry on now. Desmond asked me not to be late."
"Confound the women!" was his ungallant reflection, as he rode away.
Mrs Ranyard's tongue had virtually undone the effect of his peaceful two hours with Rose. After that—clash or no clash—he must have the thing out with Lance, at the first available moment.