Leslie runs in, laughing, and Yorke, stowing the easel under the seat, shouts out for Grey.
"Tell the—Mr. Temple we're ready," he says quickly. "Got that hamper?"
"Yes, your grace," says Grey.
"Confound——all right then. Get your master down as soon as possible; and Grey, bring me out a glass of ale. Heigh-ho, that was a narrow squeak," and he draws a long breath. "What, let him deprive her of her outing? Not if I had to take the house as well!"
Presently the duke and Grey come out, and Grey helps him into his seat. They have not long to wait for the other two, and Yorke looks approvingly at the slim, graceful figure, which plainly dressed though it may be, is unmistakably that of a lady.
Mr. Lisle, scarcely knowing what they are doing with him, is bundled in; and Yorke, as a matter of course, stands by to assist Leslie to the seat on the box beside him.
"But would not some one else like to sit there?" she says, hesitatingly.
"I am sure Mr. Lisle would be more comfortable inside," he says. "And we mustn't keep the horses waiting longer than we can help, please," he says, and he puts his hand under her elbow and hoists her up carefully.
Then he springs into his place, touches the horses with the whip, and away they go.
Leslie draws a long breath. It is not until they have got to the open country that she can believe that they have actually started.