Esmeralda at lunch recounted her adventure to Lady Wyndover, telling it in the most casual way, and she was much surprised and puzzled when her ladyship almost dropped her knife and fork, and sunk back in her chair with an exclamation of annoyance.
“My dear girl, what made you do such an—an extraordinary and absurd thing? That comes of letting you go out alone! Oh, dear! oh, dear!”
“What is the matter?” inquired Esmeralda, innocently; “nobody was hurt.”
“No, no, but that was not what I was thinking about. Of course I am very glad and thankful you were not hurt; I’m sure you might have been killed! But it’s—it’s the oddness of the thing! The idea of your interfering, and running such a risk! Why didn’t you leave it to—to the policeman, or wait until the groom came up?”
“There was no policeman there, and the groom was a long way behind,” said Esmeralda. She looked thoughtful. “You said ‘interfering,’ didn’t you? Yes, I suppose that was what the lady thought; though if I hadn’t interfered she’d have got a nasty fall. She looked at me as if I were—well—a servant.” She laughed. “She’s prouder even than Barker.”
“I wonder who they were?” said Lady Wyndover, plaintively. “What were they like?”
“The girl was very fair—like a china ornament—with blue eyes, and a smile that freezes you—”
“My dear Esmeralda!”
“She thanked me as if she would rather have come off across the rail than I should have touched her horse.”
“Who could it be? Fair? And the gentleman?”