This ground must be slippery from yesterday's
rain."
Mr. O'Moore held out his arm, and Hartledon took it. "The ground is not
slippery, Hart; it's as dry as a bone."
"Then what caused me to slip?"
"The rate you were coming at. Had you not better give up the contest, and
rest?"
"Nonsense! My foot will be all right in the skiff. Let us get on; they'll
all be out of patience."
When it was seen that something was amiss with him, that he leaned rather
heavily on the O'Moore, eager steps pressed round him. Lord Hartledon
laughed, making light of it; he had been so clumsy as to stumble, and had
twisted his ankle a little. It was nothing.
"Stay on shore and give it a rest," cried one, as he stepped once more
into the little boat. "I am sure you are hurt."
"Not I. It will have rest in the boat. Anne," he said, looking up at her
with his pleasant smile, "do you wear my colours still?"
She touched the knot on her bosom, and smiled back to him, her tone full
of earnestness. "I would wear them always."
And the countess-dowager, in her bedecked flounces and crimson feather,
looked as if she would like to throw the knot and its wearer into the
river, in the wake of the wager boats. After one or two false starts,
they got off at last.
"Do you think it seemly, this flirtation of yours with Lord Hartledon?"
Anne turned in amazement. The face of the old dowager was close to her;
the snub nose and rouged cheeks and false flaxen front looked ready to
eat her up.
Pages:
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134