"It must be a somewhat difficult occupation," he returned, bowing awkwardly.
Into Nan's mind flashed the recollection of a supple, expressive, un-English bow, and of a deftness of phrase compared with which Trenby's laboured compliment savoured of the elephantine. Swiftly she dismissed the memory, irritably chasing it from her mind, for was it not five long, black, incomprehensible weeks since Peter had vanished from her ken? From the day of the bridge-party at the Edenhall flat, she had neither seen nor heard from him, and during those five silent weeks she had come to recognise the fact that Peter meant much more to her than merely a friend, just as he himself had realised that she was the one woman in the world for him. And between them, now and always, stood Celia, the woman in possession.
"Well, then, what about Thursday next for going over to the kennels? Are you disengaged?"
Trenby's voice broke suddenly across her reverie. She threw him a brilliant smile.
"Agreed, then. I'll call for you at half-past ten," said Trenby. "Well"--rising reluctantly to his feet--"I must be moving on now. I have to go over one of my off-farms before dinner, so I'll say good-bye."
He lifted his cap and strode away, Nan watching his broad-shouldered well-knit figure with reflective eyes, the while irrepressible little gurgles and explosions of mirth emanated from the hammock.
"What on earth are you giggling about, Kitty?"
"At the lion endeavouring to lie down with the lamb," submitted Kitty meekly.
"It's a very easy one to interpret"--Kitty succumbed once more to a gale of laughter. "It was just too delicious to watch you and Roger together! You'd much better leave him alone, my dear, and play with the dolls you're used to."
"How detestable you are, Kitty. I promise you one thing--it's going to be much worse for the lion than the lamb."
Mrs. Barry Seymour sat up suddenly, the laughter dying out of her eyes.
"Nan," she admonished, "you leave Roger alone. He's as Nature made him and not fair game for such as you. Leave him to some simple country maiden--Edna Langdon, for instance, who rides straight to hounds and whose broad acres--or what will be her broad acres when Papa Langdon is gathered--'march' with his."