A very faint film of suppressed amusement seemed to spread over the well regulated face of Mr. Bisgood. "Mr. Gage went out riding this morning," he answered woodenly. "His lordship accompanied him."
"Have they returned?"
Again the haze of enjoyment seemed to blur the suave features. "No, miss," Bisgood answered, and there might have been detected a slight, ever so slight, catch in the unctuous voice; "Mr. Gage did not get far. Harlequin was rather fresh."
"Did—did anything go wrong?" It was Dagmar who asked the question.
This time there was no doubt about the abnormal expression on the butler's sleek face. "Well, miss," he replied, with an apologetic grin, "I believe Mr. Gage came off."
Without trusting his dignity to carry him through any elaboration of the bare and pointed statement, Bisgood, turned abruptly from the room.
Miss Ethel tried to laugh off a certain sense of annoyance. Till she had tried and failed Gage was more or less her property. "Poor Gage," she exclaimed. "Fancy his taking a toss. I hope he has not damaged himself. That brute Harlequin!"
"Now, Dagmar, dear, honour between—knaves. You will take Quorn and Sharnbrook off while I have my innings, won't you? I'll do as much for you."
"All right," she answered, still rather sulky. "But mind, no unfair advantage. No running me down, or falling into his arms."
"No, no," Ethel assured her; "that's a last resort. We may have to toss for that later on."