"He's not like one," replied the girl shortly. "He's a gentleman."
"My dear, Eton men are gentlemen," reproved Mrs. Woodburn.
"Some," replied the girl. "The Duke is." She added maliciously—"Sometimes."
Old Mat, Monkey Brand, and Albert started early for the meet.
It was a long hour later before mother and daughter, waiting in the parlour, heard the steady clop-clop of a horse's feet and the crisp trundle of wheels on the road.
In another moment the buggy had drawn up at the gate; Goosey Gander was stretching his neck, and Jerry of the corrugated brow was touching his hat to the descending passenger.
A tall, top-hatted figure, enfolded in long, shaggy gray frieze coat, came up the paved yard toward them between clouds of arabis.
Silver had changed in the train on the way down. He was booted, spurred, and above all radiant.
Mrs. Woodburn went out on to the steps to meet him. The girl hid her hair behind her mother's stately figure.