"Yes—I know," Lenox answered, such depth of conviction in his tone that Quita laughed again.
"Mon Dieu—listen to the man! One would think I spent half my time insisting on his doing what he hates; which is a rank libel! Now, Mr Richardson, back to your chair, please. You've done enough for one while."
Lenox put out a hand to steady him across the room.
"He's going to beat me at picquet now, by way of gratitude," Quita remarked, shaking out his pillows and settling him in. "Are you off anywhere, mon cher?"
"Yes: to the P. I. sports. I'm one of the judges."
"Then it would be quite useless to go with you. But I'll ride down, if you like."
Lenox hesitated. He had seen the shadow of disappointment in his subaltern's eyes.
"N . . no," he said at length. "Better stop and play with Dick. When
I come back I'll get you up into the trap, old man, and take you for a
drive before dinner. Who's coming, Quita? Just the Desmonds and
Courtenay?"
"Yes; and the Ollivers."
"I'm glad. She's good company."