It was true. The horseman had left the road and was galloping across the meadows straight for the brook. In twenty seconds he reached its treacherous bank, and as he set his horse at it, Sonia covered her eyes.
“He’s over!” said Germaine. “My father gave three hundred guineas for that horse.”
CHAPTER III
LUPIN’S WAY
Sonia, in a sudden revulsion of feeling, in a reaction from her fears, slipped back and sat down at the tea-table, panting quickly, struggling to keep back the tears of relief. She did not see the Duke gallop up the slope, dismount, and hand over his horse to the groom who came running to him. There was still a mist in her eyes to blur his figure as he came through the window.
“If it’s for me, plenty of tea, very little cream, and three lumps of sugar,” he cried in a gay, ringing voice, and pulled out his watch. “Five to the minute—that’s all right.” And he bent down, took Germaine’s hand, and kissed it with an air of gallant devotion.
If he had indeed just fought a duel, there were no signs of it in his bearing. His air, his voice, were entirely careless. He was a man whose whole thought at the moment was fixed on his tea and his punctuality.
He drew a chair near the tea-table for Germaine; sat down himself; and Sonia handed him a cup of tea with so shaky a hand that the spoon clinked in the saucer.
“You’ve been fighting a duel?” said Germaine.
“What! You’ve heard already?” said the Duke in some surprise.
“I’ve heard,” said Germaine. “Why did you fight it?”