“How original of you!” said Juliet.  “Well, I hope you’ll win.”

“He is the sort of person who always comes out on top whether he wins or loses,” said Fielding, striding up the long room at the moment.  “You’ve not seen him play cricket yet, Miss Moore.  He’s a positive tornado on the cricket-ground.  To-morrow’s Saturday, isn’t it?  Where are you playing, Dick?”

His good-humour was evidently fully restored.  He slapped a hand on Dick’s shoulder with the words.  Mrs. Fielding’s lips turned downwards at the action.

“We are playing the Fairharbour crowd, sir, on Lord Saltash’s ground,” said Green.  “It’s in Burchester Park.  You know the place don’t you?  It’s just above the town.”

“Yes, yes, I know it.  A fine place.  Pity it doesn’t belong to somebody decent,” said the squire.

Mrs. Fielding laughed unpleasantly.  “Dear me!  More wicked lords?”

Her husband looked at her with his quick frown.  “I thought everybody knew Saltash was a scoundrel.  It’s common talk that he’s in Paris at this moment entertaining that worthless jade, Lady Joanna Farringmore.”

Juliet gave a violent start at the words.  For a moment her face flamed red, then went dead white—­so white that she almost looked as if she would faint.  Then, in a very low voice, “It may be common talk,” she said, “but—­I am quite sure—­it isn’t true.”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed the squire.  “My dear Miss Moore, pray forgive me!  I forgot you knew her.”

She smiled at him, still with that ashen face.  “Yes, I know her.  At least—­I used to.  And—­she may have been heartless—­I think she was;—­but she wasn’t—­that.”

“Not when you knew her perhaps,” said Mrs. Fielding’s scornful voice.  She had no sympathy with people who regarded it as a duty to stand up for their unworthy friends.  “But since you quarrelled with her yourself on account of her disgraceful behaviour you are scarcely in a position to defend her.”

“No—­I know,” said Juliet, and she spoke nervously, painfully.  “But—­I must defend her on—­a point of honour.”

She did not look at Green.  Yet instantly and very decidedly he entered the breach.  “Quite so,” he said.  “We are all entitled to fair play—­though we don’t always get it when our backs are turned.  I take off my hat to you, Miss Moore, for your loyalty to your friends.”

She gave him a quick glance without speaking.

From the door the butler announced dinner, and they all turned.

“Miss Moore, I apologize,” said the squire, and offered her his arm.

She took it, her hand not very steady.  “Please forget it!” she said.

He smiled at her kindly as he led her from the room, and began to speak of other things.

Green sauntered behind with his hostess.  His eyes were extremely bright, and he made no attempt to make conversation as he went.

CHAPTER V