“Yes,” she answered him briefly, but there was tragedy in her eyes.

“Ah!” said Hunt-Goring softly.  “That made a difference to you.”

She did not answer; she leaned her cheek against Peggy’s fair head in silence.

“My dear lady,” said Hunt-Goring, “you always took things too seriously.”

She gave a brief sigh, and took up her work again.  “Life is rather a serious matter, I find,” she said, with a smile that was scarcely gay.

“Nonsense!” said Hunt-Goring.

“Don’t you find it so?” Daisy did not look up again; she stitched on rapidly with the child leaning against her knee.

“I?” he said.  “Oh, sometimes it seems so, when things don’t fit.  But I don’t care, you know.  I have a volatile mind, I am glad to say.”

“Are you never afraid of growing old?” asked Daisy.

He laughed his soft, self-satisfied laugh.  “Oh, really, you know, I don’t think they will let me do that at present.”

“You never think of getting married?” asked Daisy.

Hunt-Goring’s smile changed a little, grew subtly harder.  “Most people think of it at one time or another.” he observed.  “But personally I do not regard myself as a marrying man.”

“And you are never lonely?” she said.

“I am seldom alone, my dear Mrs. Musgrave,” he said.

She turned the conversation.  “Where have you been living since your retirement?”

“I took a place in England in the hunting-country—­quite a decent place.”

“Ah?  Where?”

“About two miles from a little town called Weir.”  Hunt-Goring spoke deliberately, still watching his hostess’s slim fingers at work.

“Why!” Swiftly Daisy looked up.  “That is where the Ratcliffes live—­Jim Ratcliffe and Olga.  Olga is out here now with Nick.  Did you know?”

Hunt-Goring nodded to each sentence.  “I know it all.  I know Jim Ratcliffe, and a burly old monster he is.  I know Nick of Redlands—­also the sedate Mrs. Nick.  And, last but not least, I know—­Olga.”

He spoke mockingly; his look was derisive.

“I had no idea you had been living there,” said Daisy.

“I was the hornet in the hive,” said Hunt-Goring with his lazy laugh.  “It’s rather a hole of a place, though I liked The Warren well enough.  I’m not going back there.  You can tell Olga so with my love.”

“She and Nick are dining here to-night,” observed Daisy, “so you will be able to tell her yourself.”

“What!  To meet me!” It was Hunt-Goring’s turn to look surprised.  He did so with an accompanying sneer.  “How did you describe me, I wonder?  You couldn’t have mentioned my name.”

Daisy regarded him steadily for a moment.  “Is there any reason why she should not meet you?” she asked.

“None whatever,” said Hunt-Goring, with a shrug.  “Needless to say, I shall be quite charmed to meet her.”

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Noel.  He came out through the French window of the drawing-room with his habitual air of cheery assurance, and was instantly pounced upon by Peggy who hailed him with delight.