They murmured assent.
"And the lady whose horse I sheltered for you," the Major continued, spitefully watching for an opening—"confound you, little you thanked me for it!—she must be still more in his interest than you. And how does that suit your book?"
Asgill had great self-control, and the Major was not, except where his malice was roused, a close observer. But the thrust was so unexpected that on the instant Payton read the other's secret in his eyes—knew that he loved, and knew that he was jealous. Jealous of Sullivan! Jealous of the man whom he was for some reason praising. Then why not jealous of a younger, a more proper, a more fashionable rival? Asgill's cunningly reared plans began to sink, and even while he answered he knew it.
"She likes him," he said, "as we all do."
"Some more, some less," Payton answered with a grin.
"Just so," the Irishman returned, controlling himself. "Some more, some less. And why not, I'm asking."
"I think I must stay over to-morrow," Payton remarked, smiling at the ceiling. "There must be a good deal to be seen here."
"Ah, there is," Asgill answered in apparent good humour.
"Worth seeing, too, I'll be sworn!" the Englishman replied, smiling more broadly.
"And that's true, too!" the other rejoined.