"Which one was she?"
"The Dresden china one. She looks—she simply cannot look as though she were married. It's most amusing—for people always take her for somebody's youngest sister who will be out next winter. . . . Don't you remember seeing her?"
"No, I don't. But there were dozens coming and going every minute whom I didn't know. Still, I behaved well, didn't I?"
"Pretty badly—to Kathleen Lawn, whom you cornered so that she couldn't escape until her mother made her go without any tea."
"Was that the reason that old lady looked at me so queerly?"
"Probably. I did, too, but you were taking chances, not hints. . . . She is attractive, isn't she?"
"Very fetching," he said, leaning down to examine his stirrup leathers which he had already lengthened twice. "I've got to have Cummins punch these again," he muttered; "or am I growing queer-legged in my old age?"
As he straightened up, Miss Erroll said: "Here comes Mr. Fane now—with a strikingly pretty girl. How beautifully they are mounted"—smilingly returning Fane's salute—"and she—oh! so you do know her, Captain Selwyn? Who is she?"
Crop raised mechanically in dazed salute, Selwyn's light touch on the bridle had tightened to a nervous clutch which brought his horse up sharply.
"What is it?" she asked, drawing bridle in her turn and looking back into his white, stupefied face.