"I don't know," Margaret answered, coldly. "I never remember the things you say."
But Mr. Garratt was not to be snubbed. "Oh, come now, don't be showing off again," he laughed, and turned to Tom—"Miss Vincent is a difficult young lady, I assure you," he said, with an air of quite understanding her. "But perhaps you've found that out too."
"How should I have found it out?" Tom asked, stiffly.
"Well, you see, I've heard a few things—no jealousy—that's only a joke," as Margaret started; "you are one of Miss Vincent's London friends, I think? It was you who gave her the roses she brought back. You see I know all about it." He laughed with satisfaction, and gave Hannah a kick under the table from sheer lightness of heart, and by way of keeping everybody in tow, as he called it to himself.
"We certainly bought some roses in Covent Garden," Tom said, and got up to go. He couldn't stand any more of this chap, he thought.
"I didn't tell you about it, Mr. Garratt," Margaret said, indignantly. "Oh, don't go, Mr. Carringford."
"I know you didn't tell me," Mr. Garratt said, with a wink. "It was Miss Barton who gave me that little bit of information—you kept it to yourself." Tom had hesitated, but this decided him. Mr. Garratt was not the sort of person with whom he could bring himself to compete.
"Well, good-bye, Mrs. Vincent," he said, shaking hands with her and then with Margaret and Hannah. He nodded to Mr. Garratt, and strode towards the door.
"But you must wait till your horse is brought round," Mrs. Vincent said. "Hannah, will you tell Sandy or Jim?"