“Exactly,” said Carteret. He was making heavy weather, but he kept on. “You see, my first idea was that you were merely interested in bringing American horses to England, as it were, don’t you see, for the humor of the thing--Haw! haw!”--he laughed painfully,--“and so, you see, I took Cecil’s very natural view of the matter, that it would be a great bore, don’t you see, not realizing in the least that you wished it for his own good. Now I think, if you are serious about it, which of course I never fancied, that Cecil would be just the man to manage an agency and see that the horses were broken and schooled and got ready for the dealers to buy; and more than that, I think he ought to have a large share of the profits, don’t you?” As Mr. Carteret talked on Lady Withers had obviously melted, though she had not yet begun to beam. “I must say,” she said frankly, “that I do think he ought to have a large share of the profits.” “And I think,” he continued, “that he ought to have a salary besides.” “It seems only reasonable,” she replied, “when you think of Cecil’s influence and that sort of thing, to say nothing of his experience with horses. I happen to know that Lord Glen Rossmuir got five thousand pounds merely for going upon the board of the United Marmalade and Jam Company, and he gets a salary besides.” “And Cecil is far abler than Glen Rossmuir,” said Mr. Carteret. “Far,” said Lady Withers. “And one more thing,” said Mr. Carteret; “what I said about Barclay’s trustee was somewhat misleading, because, don’t you see, the trust comes to an end in six weeks.” “And then,” said Lady Withers, “do I understand that he will have control of his own fortune?” “Unconditionally,” said Mr. Carteret. “And I may say that he is so awfully rich that to avoid beggars and anarchists he keeps his name out of the telephone-book, which in New York is something like the equivalent of being a duke in England.” “When will the first ship-load of the horses arrive?” asked Lady Withers. Mr. Carteret was taken aback, but an idea came to him. “It has just occurred to me,” he said, “that a neighbor of ours in Wyoming is sending over some horses in the course of the next few days. I could wire him and have him bring over two or three for samples--patterns, you call them; and then, if they are what you approve of, we shall have a ship-load come over.” “Excellent!” said Lady Withers. “Wire him at once, and you also had better wire your manager, so that there may be no delay.” “I will,” said Mr. Carteret. “And, by the way,” he added, “if Cecil should need an assistant, do you think Captain Brinton would do?” Lady Withers thought a moment, and looked doubtful. “He’s a nice boy,” she said, “and without a penny; but he’s so mad about Christina Dalrymple that he would be good for nothing in the way of an assistant to lighten Cecil’s duties. He bores poor dear Mary nearly to death confiding his love-affairs to her.”