“You have heard an extraordinarily wrong version of the story. Instead of being in any way the cause of the accident, Mr. Faradeane, at some peril to his own limbs and life, stopped the pony, and saved Bessie from a serious fall.”
“Oh! quite a hero,” said Bartley Bradstone, with as much of a sneer as he dared display to a viscount.
“As you say, quite a hero,” assented the Cherub, simply.
At that moment the squire appeared at the door, and came down the steps.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, young people,” he said, in a brighter tone than usual; but his face fell as he saw that Olivia was in her habit. “I thought you were going to drive with Mr. Bradstone and me, Olivia,” he said.
“And so I shall, if you will wait ten minutes,” she said.
But Bartley Bradstone had got his temper under mastery by this time, and he said, quickly:
“Indeed you shall not take the trouble to change, Miss Olivia. I won’t wait a minute.”
And with a nod and a smile he sprang up to the box-seat and took the reins.
Olivia watched them drive off in her calm, reflective way, and then allowed Bertie to lift her to her saddle.