Such was his brief explanation.
Meanwhile the real cause of all the mischief lurked under a great creeper, and remained a palpitating spectator of the scene. As soon as Angel had recovered her senses she began to exculpate herself in sobbing gasps, "Oh, Philip, I didn't drive—I did not drive. I only touched Sally with the whip." And she burst into a storm of tears, whilst the syce ran limping out, in order to raise the station and catch the runaway.
It was in a second-class "fitton" that Angel returned home. A fitton is a ramshackle phaeton, drawn by a pair of bony ponies, and a second-class fitton is precisely what it claims to be. From this lowly equipage the delinquent was delivered over to her ayah, who awaited her on the verandah with stolid dignity.
"And the dogcart and big horse," she cried, "what hath befallen them?" But Miss Gascoigne merely shrugged her shoulders and stalked off into her own apartment. Her cousin did not escape so easily; he had dismissed the conveyance, and was proceeding on foot, when he encountered his chum.
"I say, where are Sally and the trap?" asked Shafto.
"I've no notion," he answered; "in Jericho, for all I know."
"But," pulling up, "I say—bar jokes."
"Oh, yes, I bar jokes," agreed Gascoigne; "I left Angel holding the reins when I was in at the Rattrays'. I heard a scrimmage, and when I ran out Angel was in the bush, the syce on his back, and Sally was nowhere. I believe the child touched her with the whip—at any rate, she went through the station like greased lightning."
"Great Scotland!" ejaculated his friend, "and with the cart at her heels—a mare that is worth a thousand rupees, and the trap new from Dykes' last season. So much for Angel! Has she broken her neck?"