For a while the two rode almost in silence; but after the first canter Adrien reined up his horse close to that of his companion.  Lady Constance purposely brought the conversation round to his estates, for, with all his dissipation and languor, Leroy was no indifferent landlord, and Lord Barminster invariably referred all complaints—­such few as there were—­to his son.

“I’m sorry you would not renew the lease for Farmer Darrell,” she said gently; “he is almost heart-broken at having to leave Briar Farm.”

Adrien pulled up his horse sharply.

“Farmer Darrell to leave Briar Farm!” he said quickly.  “What do you mean, Constance?”

She looked at him steadily, as she replied: 

“I rode over there yesterday, and found them all in great trouble.  They told me Mr. Vermont, acting under your orders, had refused to grant them new leases.  I promised to speak to Uncle Phillip; but you know how angry he gets whenever any one mentions Mr. Vermont’s name, so I thought I would ask you myself.”  She blushed crimson, as if at her own boldness.  “Of course, you mustn’t do it just on my account, but—­”

“Mustn’t I?” interrupted her cousin, looking keenly, almost affectionately at the slim, girlish figure, and pretty piquant face.  “I should certainty grant whatever you asked me if it lay in my power.  As a matter of fact, however, I think Jasper said that, as they were unable to make Briar Farm pay, would I lower the rent; and as that would be creating a precedent for all the other tenants—­I refused.”

Lady Constance nodded her head.  “Quite right,” she agreed; “but I happen to know that the farm does pay splendidly, and—­”

“In any case, Constance,” interrupted Adrien, almost tenderly, “it is quite sufficient, if you wish it so.  But I think—­I am sure—­Jasper must have made a mistake.”

Lady Constance did not reply, but wisely changed the subject; she was too clever to pursue her advantage, and she had gained her point—­sown the least little doubt of Mr. Jasper Vermont’s rectitude in Adrien’s mind.

Meanwhile, Mr. Vermont had also betaken himself to the stables; but he did not ask to see “King Cole”—­contenting himself with beaming admiringly on Mr. Markham, while the head groom held forth on all the precautions he was taking with regard to the precious animal’s safety.

“An’ if he’s got at, Mr. Vermont, sir, I’ll eat my head,” was his parting speech.

In reply to which Mr. Vermont murmured inaudibly, as he walked away:  “It’s a lucky job, my good fellow, that I shan’t make you keep your word!”

At the end of the plantation, beyond the stable buildings, there was a little cottage attached to the straw-yard.  Having reached this, Jasper listened attentively; then, without any warning knock, he lifted the latch, and entered.

To all appearances the room was empty, save for some pieces of poor furniture.  But the visitor, blinking at the sudden transition from light to darkness, walked over to a rough couch, where lay the misshapen jockey Peacock, either asleep or deep in thought.  Jasper shook him angrily by the shoulder, and a sullen scowl darkened the little monkey-like face as he recognised his visitor.