Anthony at Wandooyamba was restless and surly. Mary had always been his ally in everything, and these devoted ones are the people we have no compunction about punishing severely when they do happen inadvertently to offend us. He would not forgive her for sending Jenny away.
"Can you lend me a horse, Harry?" was the first thing he said on coming down to breakfast—before he had even noticed the children, whom he had not seen for so long.
"A dozen, my dear fellow, if you want them," said Harry.
"Thank you. I only want one."
Mary leaned over the table and whispered to him, "Wait a little. She is coming back to-day."
"Have you sent for her?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows.
She nodded.
He shook his head. "She will know what she was turned out for, and she won't come back."
"She will—she will," said Mary, who devoutly hoped it. "Wait till Dickson returns, at any rate."
Dickson had a wife and family in the township, and when he found that he had not to drive the young lady to Wandooyamba, he concluded that he need not hurry home, but might take his ease in his own house, as he was accustomed to do on the day of rest; so he pocketed Jenny's letter until the evening. When he then delivered it—at past six o'clock—he was very much surprised and offended at being taken to task for presuming to exercise his own judgment in the matter. He little knew what the consequences had been to Mr. Churchill's temper and his mistress's peace of mind. Tony was a handful that day, and sincerely did Mary regret having tried to play Providence to him.