Part 3

“Exactly,” said Carteret. He was making heavy weather, but he kept on. “You see, my first idea was that you were merely interested in bringing American horses to England, as it were, don’t you see, for the humor of the thing--Haw! haw!”--he laughed painfully,--“and so, you see, I took Cecil’s very natural view of the matter, that it would be a great bore, don’t you see, not realizing in the least that you wished it for his own good. Now I think, if you are serious about it, which of course I never fancied, that Cecil would be just the man to manage an agency and see that the horses were broken and schooled and got ready for the dealers to buy; and more than that, I think he ought to have a large share of the profits, don’t you?”

As Mr. Carteret talked on Lady Withers had obviously melted, though she had not yet begun to beam. “I must say,” she said frankly, “that I do think he ought to have a large share of the profits.”

“And I think,” he continued, “that he ought to have a salary besides.”

“It seems only reasonable,” she replied, “when you think of Cecil’s influence and that sort of thing, to say nothing of his experience with horses. I happen to know that Lord Glen Rossmuir got five thousand pounds merely for going upon the board of the United Marmalade and Jam Company, and he gets a salary besides.”

“And Cecil is far abler than Glen Rossmuir,” said Mr. Carteret.

“Far,” said Lady Withers.

“And one more thing,” said Mr. Carteret; “what I said about Barclay’s trustee was somewhat misleading, because, don’t you see, the trust comes to an end in six weeks.”

“And then,” said Lady Withers, “do I understand that he will have control of his own fortune?”

“Unconditionally,” said Mr. Carteret. “And I may say that he is so awfully rich that to avoid beggars and anarchists he keeps his name out of the telephone-book, which in New York is something like the equivalent of being a duke in England.”

“When will the first ship-load of the horses arrive?” asked Lady Withers.

Mr. Carteret was taken aback, but an idea came to him. “It has just occurred to me,” he said, “that a neighbor of ours in Wyoming is sending over some horses in the course of the next few days. I could wire him and have him bring over two or three for samples--patterns, you call them; and then, if they are what you approve of, we shall have a ship-load come over.”

“Excellent!” said Lady Withers. “Wire him at once, and you also had better wire your manager, so that there may be no delay.”

“I will,” said Mr. Carteret. “And, by the way,” he added, “if Cecil should need an assistant, do you think Captain Brinton would do?”

Lady Withers thought a moment, and looked doubtful. “He’s a nice boy,” she said, “and without a penny; but he’s so mad about Christina Dalrymple that he would be good for nothing in the way of an assistant to lighten Cecil’s duties. He bores poor dear Mary nearly to death confiding his love-affairs to her.”

“Then we can leave the position of assistant manager open,” said Mr. Carteret.

“It would be better,” said Lady Withers. She began to beam again. “In fact, I have another nephew; but I must play,” she added, and went back to the card-table. “Cecil,” she observed, before the hand began, “there will be some of Mr. Barclay’s horses delivered at the Hall in a fortnight from now. Will you make your plans to be there for a few days?”

The Hon. Cecil was dealing, but he stopped. “I tell you it’s all rubbish, these American horses,” he said petulantly. “And besides, they buck like devils. It’s an awful bore.”

“Not any more than any young thoroughbred horses might buck,” said Mr. Carteret. “They may kick and play, but it’s nothing.”

“Cecil is only joking about the bucking,” said a soft voice from the chimney-corner. It was Lady Mary. “Cecil can ride anything that was ever saddled,” she added.

“Still, it is a bore,” said the Hon. Cecil, only partly mollified by the sisterly compliment.

“One word,” said Mr. Carteret in an undertone to Cecil. “Please tell Lady Withers that I’m going to buy that horse your sister was riding.”

“Good horse,” said the Hon. Cecil, and he went on with his dealing.

Mr. Carteret did not add that he was going to have him shot and fed to the hounds. Instead, he went back to the fireplace, where the gray eyes were gleaming in the firelight.

“You mustn’t keep Mr. Carteret from cabling,” Lady Withers called from the bridge-table; “and while I think of it,” she added, “won’t you and Mr. Barclay come to Crumpeton for a week as soon as the horses arrive? I shall write you. Do you think that Mr. Barclay will be able to come?”

“I think it probable,” said Mr. Carteret.

The firelight suddenly ceased to gleam upon the gray eyes. They were turned toward the floor.

“That is very nice,” said Lady Withers, arranging her cards; “but you mustn’t let me detain you. You know they might just miss a steamer.”

“I’m off,” said Mr. Carteret, and he left the room.

The party at Mrs. Ascott-Smith’s dispersed next day. Mr. Carteret went back to his own house, which he had done over in the American manner, to get warm, and to have a bath in a porcelain tub. Barclay returned with him to nurse his collar-bone. As he was unable to hunt, he went to the meets in a motor, and watched for the slim little figure in the weather-beaten habit. What he saw neither cheered nor reassured him.

“It is very natural,” he said gloomily to Mr. Carteret, “but there are at least a dozen men after her. Besides Sikes, there were four guardsmen who rode to cover with her, and then old Lord Watermere butted in. He’s looking for a third wife. You know yourself that when a man pays any attention to a woman out hunting it’s because he likes her.”

“I don’t know what their intentions are,” said Mr. Carteret; “but as far as I am concerned, you have three weeks less one day in which to propose to her. I want to do the fair thing,” he continued, “and I advise you that the psychological moment would be while the collar-bone is a novelty. There is an American buggy in the stable, and an American trotting horse that drives with one hand. _Verb sap._”

“But it isn’t done in England,” said Barclay.

“Buggy-riding,” said Mr. Carteret, “or its equivalent, is done wherever there is a man of spirit and a young lady with intuitions. The trouble with you,” he went on, “is that you are too modest on the one hand and too self-important on the other. If you are not good enough for the girl, you needn’t fear that Lady Withers will give you the preference over Sikes. This is the last advice I’m going to give. Henceforth I act on my own account.”

Barclay smiled doubtfully, but said nothing.

“I mean it,” said Mr. Carteret.

That afternoon at tea a telegram arrived from which Barclay gathered that his mother was in Paris, afflicted with a maid with chicken-pox, and that she was frantic with the sanitary regulations of the French government.

“Couldn’t I go?” said Mr. Carteret.

“No,” said Barclay, “there are twenty-eight words in this dispatch. It is a hurry-call for me.” He took the night train.

Three weeks later he came back. He arrived late in the afternoon and found his host before the fire looking thoughtfully at a note which he held in his hand. “I’m glad to see you back,” said Mr. Carteret. “Have you proposed to Mary Granvil?”

“I?” said Barclay. “No. How could I in Paris? Why?” There was an anxiety in his manner which suggested that he was not as resigned as he said he was.

“If you haven’t been bungling,” said Mr. Carteret, “blessed if I know what has happened.”

“Is it announced?” asked Barclay. “Is it Sikes?”

“Read Lady Withers’s note,” said Mr. Carteret.

Barclay took the note and read:

DEAR MR. CARTERET:

You will doubtless not be surprised at my request that you remove your horses at once from my stables. It is a disappointment to me that an unforeseen change in my plans makes it impossible for me to have you and Mr. Barclay at Crumpeton this week.

Sincerely yours, CONSTANTIA GRANVIL WITHERS.

“It’s Sikes,” said Barclay.

“It may be,” said Mr. Carteret. “I ought to have taken the matter into my own hands a week ago.”

“You don’t mean you are in earnest?” said Barclay.

“You will very soon find out,” said Mr. Carteret. “I have no false delicacy about proposing to a lady merely because I’m not sure she’s in love with me.”

At ten o’clock the next morning he and Barclay were sitting in the motor in front of Crumpeton, while a footman explained that the ladies were at the stables and Major Hammerslea was with them. Mr. Carteret told the chauffeur to go to the stables, and there they got out. Standing saddled on the floor of an open box-stall was a showy-looking chestnut thoroughbred horse. As was only natural, the occupants of the motor stopped to examine him, and Mr. Carteret gave an exclamation of surprise. “If I am not mistaken,” he said, “that is one of our Prince Royal colts.” He looked carefully at the inside of the foreleg just below the armpit, and found a small brand. “It is,” he announced. “By Jove! he _is_ a good-looker!”

While he was doing this, Lady Withers’s stud groom, Tripp, came out and touched his cap. “’E’s a nice one, sir,” said Tripp.

“He is,” said Mr. Carteret. “Is the other one as good?”

“Other one, sir?” said Tripp. “Wot other?”

“The other American horse that came with him,” said Mr. Carteret.

“This one only come ’alf an hour ago,” said Tripp. “’E’s Major Hammerslea’s ’oss. ’E bought ’im last week at Tattersalls.”

“You must be mistaken, Tripp,” said Barclay; “this is one of the horses that we had sent out to Mr. Cecil.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” said Tripp; “this is _not_ one of the ’osses sent out to Mr. Cecil; this is Major Hammerslea’s ’oss. The hanimals that arrived from America are in the lower stables.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Carteret; and they passed on in the direction indicated by Tripp. “There is no use wasting breath on that blockhead,” he said to Barclay.

In the court of the lower stables they came upon Lady Withers and the Major inspecting some two-year-olds.

“Good morning,” said Mr. Carteret. “I gathered from your note that you are dissatisfied with the horses. Would it be too much to tell me why?”

“It was my idea,” said Lady Withers coldly, “that Cecil should undertake the management of a horse agency, not a zoo.”

“I am still in the dark,” said Mr. Carteret, “but you speak as if they had given you some trouble.”

“My dear fellow,” said the Major, “it has turned out precisely as I said it would.”

“But it can’t be anything very serious,” said Mr. Carteret.

“Oh, no--it is nothing serious,” said Lady Withers, “to have two grooms in the hospital with fractured limbs, and to have no insurance upon them, to have Cecil bitten in the shoulder, to have my breaking harness torn to pieces and Tripp giving me notice. No one would consider that serious.”

“There must be some mistake about this,” said Mr. Carteret blankly. “As I told you, these horses were apt to buck playfully, but, if properly handled, would cause no trouble.”

“It may be playfulness,” said Lady Withers; “I saw one of them buck the saddle over his forelegs and head.”

“That is a fact,” said the Major. “I had read of such a thing, but had never believed it possible.”

“It is possible,” said Mr. Carteret, “but not with our horses.”

“My dear sir,” said the Major, “as I was saying to Lady Withers, your horses may be very good horses in their own place in America, but they are not at all according to English ideas.”

“At the same time,” observed Mr. Carteret with some heat, “I noticed that you are riding one of them.”

The Major looked at him in amazement. “I ride an American horse! What do you mean, sir?” he demanded.

“The chestnut horse,” began Mr. Carteret, with a gesture toward the upper stable.

“The chestnut horse,” said the Major, “I bought at Tattersalls three days ago. I know nothing about him except that he was quite the image of Prince Royal, a great sire that I once owned.”

“That is hardly surprising,” said Mr. Carteret; “Prince Royal is his father. I’m certain about it because he’s marked with our Prince Royal brand.”

The Major and Lady Withers looked at Mr. Carteret, and then at each other. Their eyes seemed to say, “We must humor this person until attendants from the madhouse can be brought to secure him.”

“Perhaps,” said Lady Withers, “you would care to see _your_ horses.”

“I should like to see the other one,” he answered stubbornly, and they went into the stable.

Lady Withers paused before a box-stall which was boarded up to the ceiling. She cautiously opened the upper half of the door, and peered through the grating. Inside was a strange, thick-shouldered, goose-rumped, lop-eared brown creature covered with shaggy wool. It stood on three legs, and carried its head low like a member of the cat family.

“To me,” said Lady Withers, “it looks like a bear; but I am assured that it is a horse. I would advise you not to go near it. This is the one that bit dear Cecil.”

The two Americans gazed in amazement.

“A charming type of hunter!” observed Lady Withers.

Mr. Carteret made no reply. He was trying to think it out, but was making no headway. While thus engaged his eyes wandered down the stable passage, and he saw one of his own grooms approaching. Almost anything was pleasanter than contemplating the creature in the box-stall, so he watched the man approach. “I beg pardon, sir,” said the man, “but the butler sent me to find you, sir, with a telegram that came just after you had left.”

Mr. Carteret tore open the envelop and read the message, which was a long one. As he finished a slight sigh escaped him. “This may interest the Major,” he observed, “and possibly explain various things.” He handed the despatch to Lady Withers, who opened her lorgnette and began to read it to the Major.

Police have Jim Siddons, one of our horse foremen. Has been drunk for week. Confesses he sold your horses at auction, but don’t know where. Believes he shipped you two outlaws. “Smallpox,” brand, “arrow V,” and “Hospital,” brand, “bar O.” Hospital dangerous horse. Killed three men. Look out. Very sorry.

REILLY.

“Who is Reilly?” asked Lady Withers.

“Reilly,” said Mr. Carteret, “is the horse superintendent of Buffalo Bill’s show. You see Buffalo Bill is the neighbor to whom I cabled.”

“Then--” began Lady Withers, but the Major interrupted her.

“Does this mean,” he demanded, “that I have bought a stolen horse?”

“It means,” said Mr. Carteret, “that if you will accept an American horse from Mr. Barclay and myself, we shall be very much flattered.”

“Really,--” said the Major. He began to enter upon one of his discourses, but stopped as he saw that neither Mr. Carteret nor Barclay was listening. Instead, they were trying to make out the brand on the creature in the box-stall.

“I can see the end of the arrow,” said Mr. Carteret. “This is Smallpox. Where is the bad one--Hospital?”

“Where is the other one?” asked Lady Withers of a stable-boy.

“In the back stable yard, your Ladyship,” said the boy. “Lady Mary is riding him.”

Each one of the four looked at the other speechless with horror.

“Lady Mary!” gasped the Major.

Mr. Carteret and Barclay started for the back stable yard, but Barclay got there first. As he was opening the gate, Mr. Carteret caught up. “Keep your head,” he observed. There were sounds of hoof-beats, exclamations from grooms and other indications of battle. They went in and saw Lady Mary sitting on the back of a creature rather more hairy and unpleasant-looking than Smallpox. Her face was pink with exertion, but otherwise she looked as neat, unruffled, and slim as she always did in the saddle. Hospital had paused, panting, and was trying to look at her out of the back of his eyes in sour wonder. He was not defeated. He was merely surprised that his preliminary exhibition had not left him alone with the saddle. When there was only the saddle to get rid of he usually got down to business and “bucked some,” as they say in Western regions.

Lady Mary nodded as they entered, and her lips parted in a little smile.

“Good morning,” said Mr. Carteret. He saw that the situation was serious and fraught with difficulties. And there was no time to be lost. “I’ve something extremely important to tell you,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Will you be good enough to get your leg well clear of the pommel and slip off that horse?”

“Well, really,” said the girl, laughing, “it is so unpleasant getting on that I should rather you told me as I am.”

“I will explain afterward,” said Mr. Carteret, “but you would oblige me very much by slipping off that horse immediately.”

The girl looked at him. “I see through you,” she said, “you are afraid I’ll get bucked off.”

“It would be no disgrace,” he answered; “you are not sitting on a horse, but on an explosion.”

“It would be a disgrace to get off because you were afraid,” said the girl. “Besides,” she continued in a lower voice, “I’m very sorry for the way in which my aunt and Cecil have acted in this matter. You warned them that the horses might buck playfully. You know the Granvils are supposed to ride.” She broke off and spoke to the horse, for Hospital had satisfied his curiosity as to the newcomers, and was walking sidewise, deciding whether he would buck some more or roll over.

Barclay started for the brute’s head, but his good arm was seized and he was thrust back. “My dear girl,” said Mr. Carteret, going a step closer, “if you have any feelings of humanity,”--he looked very grave, but there was a smile in his eyes, and he spoke in a low voice, which nevertheless was plainly audible to Barclay,--“I say, if you have any feelings of humanity,” he repeated, “or any sense of the fitness of things, get off that horse at once. Here is a young man with a bad arm and something extremely important on his mind that is for your ear alone, and he’ll unquestionably get killed if he goes near enough that horse to tell you about it. Be a good girl,” he added in a whisper, “and be kind to him. Perhaps he’s worth it.” A quick flush came into the girl’s face. And Mr. Carteret, without glancing back, hurried out of the paddock.

Just outside the gate he ran into Lady Withers, the Major, and Mr. Tappingwell-Sikes, who had just arrived. They had been following as fast as they could.

“What has happened?” demanded the Major, much out of breath.

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Carteret; “but we’ll all know in a few minutes.”

Lady Withers looked at him in amazement, and tried to brush past; but he barred the way. “There is nothing you can do,” he said. “If she chooses to stay on Hospital, it’s too late to get her off without a breeches-buoy. If she got down, these are moments when she mustn’t be interrupted.”

“Are you mad?” said Lady Withers, “or am I?”

“Neither of us is mad,” said Mr. Carteret, “but I have just proposed to Lady Mary, and I am anxious to see what she is going to do about it.”

Lady Withers’s mouth half opened in astonishment.

“You have proposed!” she exclaimed, but that was all. She looked at Mr. Tappingwell-Sikes, and then again at Mr. Carteret.

“Perhaps,” said the Major, “it would be well for Mr. Sikes and me to withdraw.”

“Your presence is very agreeable at all times,” said Mr. Carteret; “but really there is nothing that you can do.” The Major and Mr. Tappingwell-Sikes withdrew.

“But I didn’t know that you were interested in Mary,” said Lady Withers, coming to her senses. “Perhaps I had better have a word with her. The dear child is so young that she may not know her own mind.”

“I think she does by this time,” he replied. The gate opened, and Barclay and Mary Granvil stood in the gateway. “I’m rather sure of it,” he added. “You can see for yourself.”

“But--” said Lady Withers, looking accusingly at Mr. Carteret. She was fairly dumfounded.

“It was I that proposed,” said Mr. Carteret, “but the beneficiary is apparently Barclay.”

“It is,” said Barclay.

All Lady Withers could do was to gasp hysterically, “How very American!”

“Not at all,” said Mr. Carteret. “The vicarious proposal is essentially European. I think,” he added, “all that remains for you to do is to confer your blessing.”

As Lady Withers gazed at her niece she saw in those gray Granvil eyes the magical light that is so sad to those that are without it, and she saw in her face the loveliness and other consequences of being sweet. The ghosts of what she herself might have had and what she herself might have been thronged back to her. Her hard, world-scarred heart trembled; tears stood in her eyes, and without speaking and without a single false beam or sparkle she took the girl to her breast and kissed her.

Mr. Carteret turned away and followed the Major and Tappingwell-Sikes. There was something in his throat that he felt would make it difficult for him to contribute anything illuminating to the situation.

MR. CARTERET’S ADVENTURE WITH A LOCKET

III

MR. CARTERET’S ADVENTURE WITH A LOCKET

Mrs. Ascott-Smith knew that Mr. Carteret had been attentive to Miss Rivers, but she had never known how attentive. She never suspected that the affair had reached the point of an engagement, subsequently broken by Miss Rivers. If she had known the facts, she would not have invited Mr. Carteret to Chilliecote Abbey when Miss Rivers and Captain Wynford were there.

Yet the presence of Miss Rivers and Wynford was not the reason that Mr. Carteret gave himself for declining the invitation. He did not dread meeting Miss Rivers; she was nothing to him but a mistake and an old friend. Whether she married Wynford or some other man, it was the same to him. The affair was over. He even had it in mind to get married before very long, if only to prove it.

He was in such a mood as he walked down the passage to the smoking-room with Mrs. Ascott-Smith’s note crumpled in his hand. His eyes looked straight before him and saw nothing. Behind him there followed the soft, whispering tread of cushioned feet, and that he did not hear. Perhaps it was not because he was absorbed that he did not hear it, for it was always following him, and he had ceased to note it, as one ceases to note the clock ticking. But as he sat down, he felt the touch of a cold nose on his hand and one little lick. He glanced down, and looked into the sad, wistful eyes of the wire-haired fox terrier. With this, Penwiper dropped gravely upon the floor, gazing up adoring and mournful, yet content. Mr. Carteret was used to this idolatry, as he was used to the patter of the following footsteps, but on this occasion it provoked speculation. It occurred to him to wonder how in a just universe a devotion like Penwiper’s would be repaid. Then he wondered if, after all, it was a just universe. If so, why should Penwiper have that look chronically in his eyes?

Presently Mr. Carteret got up and took the newspapers. He was annoyed with himself and annoyed with Penwiper. It was the dog that called up these disquieting ideas. The dog was irrevocably associated with Miss Rivers. He had given her Penwiper as an engagement present, and when the affair ended, she had sent him back. He ought not to have taken him back. He felt that it had been a great mistake to become interested again in Penwiper, as it had been a great mistake to become interested at all in Miss Rivers. He continued to peruse the newspapers till he found that he was reading a paragraph for the third time. Then he got up and went out to the stables.