"I have just been recommended a girl called Flora Smart," remarks Honor presently. "I believe she was with you for a time, Mrs. Masters."
"Yes, miss; for a very short time though, I'm thankful to say. I had her to help with the children, and to give a hand when it was needed to my own servant that I've had with me for years. She was an idle hussy though, and didn't care to do anything but take the children out. Ah, and they nearly met their death, or might have done, with her wicked carelessness!" she adds with an involuntary shudder.
"How was that?" asks Honor, impressed with Mrs. Masters' manner.
"Well, miss, she had taken the two youngest out in the perambulator; and from what I heard after I suppose that, when she got half-way down Meadow Lane, there she saw some acquaintance of hers—a young man it was; and as she thought the perambulator might be seen if she took it with her, she just left it in the middle of the lane and ran back round the corner, quite out of sight of the children. Well, miss, it was market-day; and presently there came along the usual drove of cattle, the drovers far behind. Fortunately the doctor was coming along that way too, and recognizing them and seeing their danger at once, he just took and wheeled them home to me, saying as he brought them up to the door, 'I think your little ones will be safer with you, Mrs. Masters, than in the middle of Meadow Lane by themselves on market-day.' Dear! it did give me such a turn, to be sure, miss; for he told me after that he quite thinks the perambulator would have been overturned, some of the cattle were so wild and unruly. Ah, a kind-hearted gentleman is Dr. Sinclair! He would do anyone a good turn, from the highest to the lowest."
"Dr. Sinclair!" repeats Honor. "Is that the name of the doctor here, Mrs. Masters? I really didn't know there was a doctor here at all; though I suppose there always is, even in a little village like this."
"Dear me, now, Miss Merivale, to think that you don't know him even by sight, and he often rides up your way too!"
"I am generally too busy to notice many passers-by," says Honor smiling; "but now I think of it, I believe I have heard the Mr. Talboys mention him."
"Ah, to be sure you would, miss; if 'twas only on his father's account; though I'm not sure if the old gentlemen don't like the son just as well, if not better. But you see, miss, it was the old doctor that attended Mr. Benjamin with his broken ankle; I think they were all boys at school together—so I've heard my husband say. Yes, it was quite a blow to the old gentlemen when the old doctor died. There! talk of the angel—why, that's the young doctor himself coming up the road yonder. Now you can see him for yourself, miss.
Honor lifts her eyes as a rider comes slowly up the remainder of the steep hill which leads into the village. She sees a well-made, broad-shouldered man, who cannot be much under six feet in height, bestriding a handsome glossy chestnut, which in the matter of muscular strength and powerfulness of build is as noticeable as his master.
Dr. John Sinclair appears to be deep in thought, for his eyes are raised no higher than his horse's head as he sits flicking its ears softly with the end of his riding-whip, a performance which the creature apparently rather enjoys than otherwise, judging by the tossing of its head, accompanied by little whinnyings of approval. As he rides past the butcher's shop, though, the doctor raises his head, and catching sight of Mrs. Masters smiles brightly and courteously. As he lifts his hat, his eyes rest upon Honor with a little inquiring expression.