Then she wandered down the broad garden path, and, with the same air of dreamy self-communion, passed out by the lodge gate into the road. Two dogs, which had been lying asleep on the lawn, had sprung up at the sound of her light footstep, and followed her, barking and yapping in frantic delight.
As she stopped to speak to and pet them, there came out from behind the lodge a small pony-cart, in which was seated a young girl. She was about seventeen, with a pretty, innocent face, from which a pair of soft, brown eyes looked out appealingly. It was the lodge-keeper’s daughter. She colored with timid pleasure at the sight of Olivia, and pulled up the pony, who resented the operation, and made the courtesy she attempted an impossibility.
“Why, Bessie!” said Olivia, going up to the side of the cart. “Are you going for a drive?”
“Yes, miss,” replied the girl, with respectful affection alike in her eyes and in her voice. “I am going to Wainford for father.”
“To Wainford?” said Olivia. “I am almost tempted to go with you.”
“Oh, Miss Olivia,” murmured the girl, with a rapturous delight, “if you would!”
Olivia shook her head laughingly.
“I’m afraid I mustn’t, Bessie. Wainford is too far; I should be late for dinner, and the squire would never forgive either of us. Never mind,” she added, consolingly, as Bessie’s face fell from the dizzy heights of eagerness to the uttermost depths of disappointment; “I will go some other time. I have often wanted to have a ride with you behind that famous pony. What a restless little monkey it is! Take care of him, Bessie! But I suppose you understand each other?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Olivia!” said Bessie. “And you won’t come?” with a sigh. “Well! Is there anything I can do for you, miss? Anything I can bring you?”
Olivia was about to shake her head, when, divining that the girl would be somewhat consoled for her disappointment if she had some errand to perform, she said: