“It is a pity his horse doesn’t share your opinion, auntie,” said Olivia, looking through the window. “It doesn’t appear to respect him in the least. Some of these days it will carry its disrespect so far as to throw him off.”
“Mr. Bradstone may not be a jockey. I repeat, he may not be a jockey; but, all the same, he is a young man worth due consideration. Olivia, do you forget that he is a millionaire—a millionaire!”
“Neither I nor he forgets it,” said Olivia, succinctly.
“Wealth—wealth, my dear Olivia, has its responsibilities and its—its—I may say its claims to our respect.”
“Yes, I know,” said Olivia. “No one accuses you of forgetting what is due to it, auntie.”
“No, my dear. I can lay my hand upon my heart——”
But Olivia had already stepped through the window, and what Miss Amelia would do or say when she laid her hand upon her heart, must remain a mystery.
Olivia paused a moment, looking out upon the view which stretched over an exquisite panorama of wooded vales, and
“... Meadows all bedight
With buttercups and daisies, elves’ delight.”