“Really, I can’t say.  I offered to go and fetch the doctor in my car, but she assured me she’d be all right in the morning.  What say, Mr. Dauntless?”

“I didn’t speak, Mr. Windomshire.”

“I thought you did.”  More than one at the table had heard Joe’s involuntary chuckle.

“I say, Windomshire, what’s the name of that pretty governess over at Thursdale’s?” asked the busy bore.  “Saw her this morning.”

The Englishman looked down and flecked the ashes from his cigarette before answering.

“Miss Courtenay,” he responded.

“She’s a corking pretty girl.”  Windomshire went through the unnecessary act of flecking ashes again, but said nothing in reply.  “Are there any more at home like her?” with a fine chuckle in behalf of his wit.

“She’s of a very good family, I believe,” said Windomshire, looking about helplessly.  Mrs. Scudaway caught the look in his eyes and remembered that English gentlemen are not supposed to discuss women outside of their own set.

“It must be time for the ’bus,” she said.  “We’re all going in by the 10.10, Mr. Windomshire.”

“Can’t I take some of you over to the station in my car?”

“The ’bus is dryer, I think, thank you.”  She led the way, and the other women followed her upstairs.  “We’ll be down in time,” she called.

“I’ll take some of you men over in Hardy’s machine,” volunteered Dauntless.  “I’ve got it out here this week, while he’s east.”

“Ain’t you going in, Joe?” demanded Rolfe.

“Not to-night.  I’m staying overnight with my uncle in Cobberly Road.”

“The ’bus is good enough for me.  I haven’t forgotten how you ran off the Peters Bridge last fall,” said Carter.

“Hang it, man, he wasn’t thinking about bridges that time,” said the cheerful bore.  “There was a girl with him.  Elea—­Ahem!  I say, old man, what the devil time is it?  Time for the confounded ’bus?  Don’t want to miss the train.”  He had caught the scowl of warning from Carter and, for a wonder, understood.

“By the way,” said Windomshire, irrelevantly, “what was the disturbance over in O’Brien’s Lane this morning?  Anybody hurt?  I was driving the car up Andrews’ Hill when I saw the excitement.  Couldn’t make it out.  Were all of the horses running away?”

“Running away!” roared the blase man, forgetting his pose for the first time.  “Running away!” and he broke into a roar of laughter.  “Why, that was the advance guard of the Faraway Country Club.  Good Lord, did you see them coming in?”

“My word, they were coming in.  But what was the rush?  I came over to-night to see if any of the women had been hurt.  I could have sworn the horses were absolutely unmanageable.  They were tearing through bushes and taking fences they’d never seen before.  Egad, I give you my word, one of the women took the fence at the south end of the golf course, and she didn’t turn out for the bunker at No. 7, either.  She took it like a bird, and straight across the course she flew on a dead line for the home green.  What the deuce—–­”