“I have been waiting for the pleasure of meeting you,” he drawled.  “I dropped in on the chance, and Lady Carfax assured me you wouldn’t be long.”

Sir Giles scowled more heavily than before.  He shot a malignant glance at his wife.

“Who in thunder made her so clever?” he growled.  “And what did you want to see me for?  Have I ever met you before?”

His voice was thick, the words somewhat difficult to distinguish.

Nap’s smile was unmistakably sardonic.  “Many times,” he said.  “You nearly rode over me on the last occasion.  Doubtless the episode has escaped your memory, but it made a more lasting impression upon mine.”

Sir Giles glared offensively, as if he deemed himself insulted.  “I remember,” he said.  “Your animal came down with you.  You pushed in front of me.  But it was your own fault.  You Americans never observe the rules of sport.  I’m always glad to see you come a cropper.”

“I am sure of it,” said Nap politely.  “It must gratify you immensely.”

Sir Giles uttered a brief, snarling laugh, and advanced abruptly to the hearth.  He towered above the slim American, but the latter did not appear to shirk comparison with him.  With his hands in his pockets he nonchalantly opposed his insolence to the other man’s half-tipsy tyranny.

And Anne Carfax sat silent behind the tea-table and endured the encounter with a mask-like patience that betrayed no faintest hint of what she carried in her heart.

“Well, what do you want to see me for?” Sir Giles demanded, with a ferocious kick at the coals.

Nap was quite ready with his answer.  “I am really here on my brother’s behalf.  There is a scheme afoot, as no doubt you know, for the building of a Town Hall.  My brother considers that the lord of the Manor”—­he bowed with thinly-veiled irony—­“should have first say in the matter.  But I am at liberty to assure you that should you be in favour of the scheme he is ready to offer you his hearty support.”

Sir Giles heard him out with lowering brows.  It did not improve his temper to see Anne’s eyes flash sudden interrogation at Nap’s serenely smiling countenance, though he did not suspect the meaning of her glance.

“I am not in favour of the scheme,” he said shortly, as Nap ended.

Nap slightly raised his brows.  “No?  I understood otherwise.”

The blood mounted to Sir Giles’s forehead.  “Either you were misinformed or your intelligence is at fault,” he said, with that in his voice that was so nearly an open insult that, for a second, even Nap looked dangerous.

Then quite quietly, without raising her eyes, Anne intervened.  “I think you ought to explain to Mr. Errol, Giles, that you have only recently changed your mind.”

Sir Giles rounded on her malignantly.  “What the devil has that to do with it, or with you, for that matter?  Do you think I don’t know my own mind?  Do you think—­”