"The race is to-morrow, but he comes to-day," answered Lord Barminster.
"I had a note from him last night saying he would be here by lunch time,
and was bringing a few friends down with him."
"And Mr. Vermont, too?" inquired Lady Constance almost timidly.
The old man's face darkened and his thin lips set in a hard line.
"Yes," he said fiercely, "I suppose so. Adrien is as much in love with
him as a young fellow with his first sweetheart. I know that he's a
scoundrel and a rogue--but there, what would you? Times have changed
since my day; we have replaced horses by motors, to spoil our roads and
ruin our lands, and gentleman friends by base-born, scheming
adventurers."
"Oh, but, uncle," Lady Constance timidly remonstrated, "surely Mr.
Vermont is a gentleman?"
"Yes, by Act of Parliament!" snapped the old man, in whose aristocratic
eyes a lawyer was but little removed from the criminal whose case he
defended.
"Certainly it is strange that Adrien should be so attached to him," the
girl said musingly; she, herself, had little liking for the gentleman in
question, though her sense of justice had made her speak a good word for
him. "But he is a clever steward, at least."
"A rogue's only virtue," said Lord Barminster dryly.
"Amusing, too," she suggested.
"We've no longer need of a court jester," returned her companion, with
sarcasm. "But never mind, Adrien will find out his mistake for himself
one day. Certainly, I am not going to attempt to strip the mask off his
friend's face. Give him rope enough, and he will hang himself.
Meanwhile, give me some more coffee, and leave the fellow's name alone;
I hate even the thought of him."
Lady Constance refilled his cup and brought it to the end of the table,
for she loved to wait on the old man. As she did so, his sharp eyes
caught the glitter of a piece of needlework across the back of her
chair, and with a curt gesture towards it, he said: "What is that?"
She blushed, almost deeply, then took it up, and opened it out for him
to see. It was a silk riding jacket, in the scarlet and white racing
colours of the Leroys, and their coat of arms, worked in silver, upon
the breast.
"For the Grand National," said Lady Constance, as she refolded the
jacket.
"You worked it yourself?" questioned the old man abruptly.