Summerhay damaged himself out hunting that first winter. The memory of
nursing him was strangely pleasant, now that it was two years old.
For convalescence they had gone to the Pyrenees--Argeles in March, all
almond-blossom and snows against the blue--a wonderful fortnight. In
London on the way back they had their first awkward encounter. Coming
out of a theatre one evening, Gyp heard a woman's voice, close behind,
say: "Why, it's Bryan! What ages!" And his answer defensively drawled
out:
"Halo! How are you, Diana?"
"Oh, awfully fit. Where are you, nowadays? Why don't you come and see
us?"
Again the drawl:
"Down in the country. I will, some time. Good-bye."
A tall woman or girl--red-haired, with one of those wonderful white
skins that go therewith; and brown--yes, brown eyes; Gyp could see those
eyes sweeping her up and down with a sort of burning-live curiosity.
Bryan's hand was thrust under her arm at once.
"Come on, let's walk and get a cab."
As soon as they were clear of the crowd, she pressed his hand to her
breast, and said:
"Did you mind?"
"Mind? Of course not. It's for you to mind."
"Who was it?"
"A second cousin. Diana Leyton."
"Do you know her very well?"
"Oh yes--used to."
"And do you like her very much?"
"Rather!"
He looked round into her face, with laughter bubbling up behind his
gravity.
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