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Fourteen miles " "A precious long fourteen too," put in Shotover. "So it is," his father agreed, "a long fourteen. And my horse was pumped, regularly pumped. I can't bear to see a horse as done as that. It distresses me, downright distresses me. Hate to over-press a horse. Hate to over-press anything that can't stand up to you and take its revenge on you.
His was the stronger will after all; his was the right to interfere, to stop her, to check her, to take her, draw her back as he had once drawn her from the fascination of destruction when she had swayed out too far over the cliffs at Shotover. "Do you remember that?" he asked, and spoke of the incident. "Yes, I remember," she replied, smiling.
Shotover consented to give him a trial, whereupon Miss Tempest made haste to disclose to her protege the grand thing she had done for him. She was disappointed at the coolness and lack of interest with which Clare heard her great news.
"You see, papa, one really must be practical," Lady Louisa began in clear, emphatic tones. "We all know how you have spoiled Constance. She and Shotover have always been your favourites. But even you must admit that Shotover's wretched extravagance has impoverished you, and helped to impoverish all your other children. And you must also admit, notwithstanding your partiality for Constance, that "
Perhaps it had been the lack of interest in the people at Shotover, perhaps a mental review of her ancestors' capricious records perhaps a characteristic impulse that had directed a telegram to Quarrier after a midnight confab with Grace Ferrall. However it may have been, she had summoned him.
Shotover either did not know that Marway gambled, or did not know that he talked in the nursery with his daughter. But, alas, he could do nothing without telling, and they all said none but the lowest of cads would carry tales! For the young men thought it the part of gentlemen to stick by each other, and hide from Mr. Shotover some things he had a right to know.
Besides she already had a temporary interest in Siward the interest that women always cherish, quite unconsciously, for the man whose shortcomings they have consented to overlook. As they crossed the headland, through the deepening dusk the acetylene lamps on a cluster of motor cars spread a blinding light across the scrub. The windows of Shotover House were brilliantly illuminated.
"Yes, I know, and that's what's made me so infernally unwilling to come to you about my affairs," Lord Shotover said, in tones of perfectly genuine regret. "Is it though?" his father commented. "Good fellow at heart," he added to himself. "Displays very proper feeling. Always was a good-hearted fellow." "I can only tell you I've been awfully wretched about it for the last three months."
She looked up suddenly, her face irradiated by an exquisite smile. "Yes, I have it," she cried. "I see the way clear." "But I can't tell them," broke in Lady Constance. Honoria's hand closed down on hers reassuringly. "No," she said, "you shall not tell them. And Lord Shotover shall not tell them.
Clare told him he had met Miss Shotover with her sister, and the child seemed so tired he had asked leave to carry her with him, Mr. Woolrige was not pleased, but he said nothing; on the spot the clerks nicknamed him Nursie; and Clare did his best to justify the appellation-he never lost a chance of acting up to it, and always answered when they summoned him by it.
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