They went into the long, cool drawing room together, and came upon Dacre Wynne, clad in riding things, and looking, just as Nigel remembered he always looked, very bronzed and big and handsome in a heavy way.  His back was toward them and his eyes were upon a photo of ’Toinette that stood on a carved secretaire.  He wheeled at the sound of their footsteps and came forward, his face lighting with pleasure, his hand outstretched.  Then he saw Merriton behind ’Toinette’s tiny figure, and for a moment some of the pleasure went out of his eyes.

“Hello,” he said.  “However did you get to this part of the world?  You always turn up like a bad penny....  What a time you’ve been ’Toinette!”

Merriton greeted him pleasantly, and ’Toinette’s radiant eyes smiled up into his bronzed face.

“Have I?” she said, with a little embarrassed laugh.  “Well, I have been out riding—­with Nigel.”

“Oh, Nigel lives round here, does he?” said Wynne, with a sarcastic laugh.  “Like it, old man?”

“Oh, I like it well enough,” retorted Merriton.  “At any rate I’ll be obliged to get used to it.  I’ve said good-bye to India for keeps, Wynne.  I’m settled here for good.”

Wynne swung upon his heel at the tone of Merriton’s voice, and his eyes narrowed.  He stood almost a head taller than Nigel—­who was by no means short—­and was big and broad and heavy-chested.  Merriton always felt at a disadvantage.

“So?  You are going to settle down to it altogether, then?” said Wynne, with an odd note in his deep, booming voice.  ’Toinette sent a quick, rather scared look into her lover’s face.  He smiled back as though to reassure her.

“Yes,” he said, a trifle defiantly.  “You see, Wynne, I’ve come into a place near here.  I’m—­I’m hoping to get married soon.  ’Toinette and I, you know.  She’s done me the honour to promise to be my wife.  Congratulate me, won’t you?”

It was like a blow full in the face to the other man.  For a moment all the colour drained out of his bronzed cheeks and he went as white as death.

“I—­I—­certainly congratulate you, with all my heart,” he said, speaking in a strange, husky voice.  “Believe me, you’re a luckier chap, Merriton, than you know.  Quite the luckiest chap in the world.”

He took out his handkerchief suddenly and blew his nose, and then wiped his forehead, which, Merriton noted, was damp with perspiration.  Then he felt in his pockets and produced a cigarette.

“I may smoke, ’Toinette?  Thanks.  I’ve had a long ride, and a hard one....  And so you two are going to get married, are you?”

’Toinette’s face, too, was rather pale.  She smiled nervously, and instinctively her hand crept out and touched Merriton’s sleeve.  She could feel him stiffen suddenly, and saw how proudly he threw back his head.

“Yes,” said ’Toinette.  “We’re going to be married, Dacre.  And I am—­oh, so happy!  I know you cannot help being pleased—­with that.  And uncle, too.  He seems delighted.”