Presently O’Hara fell a little to the rear that he might study his friend without palpably turning to do so. He thought he had never seen Jack’s face wear such a black look. The fine brows almost met over his nose with only two sharp furrows to separate them; the mouth was compressed, the chin a little prominent, and the eyes, staring ahead between Jenny’s nervous ears, seemed to see all without absorbing anything. One hand at his hip was clenched on his riding-whip, the other mechanically guided the mare.

O’Hara found himself admiring the lithe grace of the man, with his upright carriage and splendid seat.

Suddenly, as if aware that he was being studied, my lord half turned his head and met O’Hara’s eyes. He gave a tiny shrug and with it seemed to throw off his oppression. The frown vanished, and he smiled.

“I beg your pardon, Miles. I am a surly fellow.”

“Mayhap your shoulder troubles you,” suggested O’Hara tactfully.