She bent her head. To herself she whispered. "He may not idolise his past, yet he cannot escape from it." . . . And her thoughts might have travelled farther, but she had put the mare to a walk again and just then her ears caught an unaccustomed sound, or confusion of sounds.
At the end of the alley she reined up, wide-eyed.
A narrow gateway here gave access to what had yesterday been a sloping paddock where Miss Quiney grazed a couple of cows. To-day the cows had vanished and given way to a small army of labourers. Broad strips of turf had vanished also and the brown loam was moving downhill in scores of wheel-barrows, to build up the slope to a level.
Sir Oliver marked her amazement and answered it with an easy laugh.
"The time is short, you see, and already we have wasted half an hour of it unprofitably. . . . These fellows appear to be working well."
She gazed at the moving gangs as one who, having come by surprise upon a hive of bees, stands still and cons the small creatures at work.
"But what is the meaning of it?"
"The meaning? Why, that for this week I am your riding-master, and that by to-morrow you will have a passable riding-school."