The sun was shining brilliantly, and the scene was very
gay.
Baring, who had drawn near with a certain eagerness, seemed to stiffen
at her words.
"Can't come!" he echoed. "Why not?"
Mrs. Latimer handed him a note.
"She sent this round half an hour ago."
Baring read the note with bent brows. It merely stated that the writer
had been working all the morning and was a little tired. Would Mrs.
Latimer kindly understand and excuse her?
He handed it back without comment.
"Where is young Carteret?" he asked. "Have you seen him yet?"
"No," she answered. "Somebody was saying he was late. Ah! There he is,
surely--just going into the weighing-tent. What a superb horse that is
of Mr. Hyde's! Do you think he will win the Cup?"
Baring thought it likely, but he said it with so preoccupied an air that
Mrs. Latimer smiled, and considerately refrained from detaining him.
She watched him walk down towards the weighing-tent; but before he
reached it, she saw the figure of young Carteret issue forth at the
farther end, and start off at a run with his saddle on his shoulder
towards the enclosure where the racers were waiting. He was late, and
she thought he looked flurried.
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