Heaven knows what the poor woman can be
thinking of! Oh, it's awful--and everything was going so beautifully.
Of course Charles would simply never be brought to accept an
apology----"
"I am only too anxious to make one," I submitted.
"Here's the poor fellow now," said Cousin Egbert almost gleefully, and
our host entered. He carried a patch over his right eye and was not
attired for sport on the lake, but in a dark morning suit of quietly
beautiful lines that I thought showed a fine sense of the situation.
He shot me one superior glance from his left eye and turned to Mrs.
Effie.
"I see you still harbour the ruffian?"
"I've just given him a call-down," said Mrs. Effie, plainly ill at
ease, "and he says it was all because you were sober; that if you'd
been in the state Lord Ivor Cradleigh was the time it happened at
Chaynes-Wotten he wouldn't have done anything to you, probably."
"What's this, what's this? Lord Ivor Cradleigh--Chaynes-Wotten?" The
man seemed to be curiously interested by the mere names, in spite of
himself. "His lordship was at Chaynes-Wotten for the shooting, I
suppose?" This, most amazingly, to me.
"A house party at Whitsuntide, sir," I explained.
"Ah! And you say his lordship was----"
"Oh, quite, quite in his cups, sir.
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