Martin shot abominably that day, and, coming home in the evening gloomy and savage, went straight to his room, and did not reappear till dinner-time. Elsa had been taken in by one of the moustache-tuggers. Martin found himself seated on her other side. It was so pleasant to be near her, and to feel that the bard was away at the other end of the table, that for the moment his spirits revived.
'Well, how did you like the ride?' he asked, with a smile. 'Did you put that girdle round the world?'
She looked at him—once. The next moment he had an uninterrupted view of her shoulder, and heard the sound of her voice as she prattled gaily to the man on her other side.
His heart gave a sudden bound. He understood now. The demon butler had had his wicked way. Good heavens! She had thought he was taunting her! He must explain at once. He—
'Hock or sherry, sir?'
He looked up into Kegg's expressionless eyes. The butler was wearing his on-duty mask. There was no sign of triumph in his face.
'Oh, sherry. I mean hock. No, sherry. Neither.'
This was awful. He must put this right.
'Elsa,' he said.
She was engrossed in her conversation with her neighbour.