“I think not,” said Sir David quietly; “if Mr. Tuke is the man I take him to be. But, come, Angel. You may serve as an argument where none of mine would carry.”
She gave a light laugh as she was lifted into her saddle.
“You flatter me, brother,” she said. “I will persuade in the language of flowers, and you by club-law. We will see which hath the better wit.”
She flicked up her horse, and, whether by accident or design, drove it brushing against Darda as she stood near.
The girl sprang back, almost with an oath on her lips.
“Some day, perhaps,” she muttered in her teeth—“some day, perhaps, you shall set your wit against bright steel, mistress, and see which is the sharper.”
She caught sight of Sir David turning in his saddle and beckoning her to follow, and waved to him and cried wildly, “I am coming!”
“To ’a view hulloa!” said the attentive groom, with a grin. “Run un to earth, gal, in the ‘Priest’s Hoal.’”
“Oh, my!” he cried jeeringly, as she struck at him aimlessly in passing and sped on her way.