" His leisurely blue eyes, always in command of the
situation, rested on the Rector's heated face. "By the way," he said,
"I'm afraid George Pendyce is rather hard hit. Been obliged to sell his
horse. I saw him at Epsom the week before last."
The Rector brightened.
"I made certain he'd come to grief over that betting," he said. "I'm
very sorry--very sorry indeed."
"They say," went on Winlow, "that he dropped four thousand over the
Thursday race.
"He was pretty well dipped before, I know. Poor old George! such an
awfully good chap!"
"Ah," repeated Mr. Barter, "I'm very sorry--very sorry indeed. Things
were bad enough as it was."
A ray of interest illumined the leisureliness of the Hon. Geoffrey's
eyes.
"You mean about Mrs.----H'm, yes?" he said. "People are talking; you
can't stop that. I'm so sorry for the poor Squire, and Mrs. Pendyce. I
hope something'll be done."
The Rector frowned.
"I've done my best," he said. "Well hit, sir! I've always said that
anyone with a little pluck can knock off that lefthand man you think so
much of. He 'comes in' a bit, but he bowls a shocking bad length. Here I
am dawdling. I must get back!"
And once more that real solemnity came over Mr. Barter's face.
"I suppose you'll be playing for Coldingham against us on Thursday?
Good-bye!"
Nodding in response to Winlow's salute, he walked away.
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