"But there are already two," said Celia, forcing a smile and glancing at Roddy. "It is very kind of your lordship, but I would rather be alone." She moved on quickly, her heart beating rather fast with resentment, her face crimson. Heyton followed her to the door, and stood looking after her, an evil smile on his face.
"Pretty high and mighty for a typewriting girl," he muttered. "By jove! she's pretty. I like that swing of hers. All right, my girl; I'm not taken in by that mock shyness. You wait awhile. Yes; she's deuced pretty. I wonder how the old man picked her up!"
Celia had gone some distance before she recovered her equanimity. Certainly, this son of the Marquess was a hateful creature, and she could not help wondering how even so shallow and frivolous a woman as his wife could have married him. She had reached the bend of the road, when she stopped short and stared with amazement at a group which presented itself a little farther down.
On the bank adjoining the pathway was seated Lady Gridborough; her hat was on one side, her face was flushed, her mantle dusty and disarranged; but her good-natured face was wreathed in smiles as she watched a young man, standing beside the Exmoor pony and attempting to keep it from rearing and plunging.
"Oh, whatever is the matter?" demanded Celia, as she ran forward.
Lady Gridborough looked up, laughed, and wiped her eyes.
"Good morning, my dear," she said; "you've come just in time to enjoy a little comedy." She nodded at the young man and the frisking pony. "Turk took it into his head to bolt just now, coming down the hill there. I suppose it was only his fun, but we ran up on to the path, the cart overturned——"
"Oh! Are you hurt?" demanded Celia, anxiously.
"Not a bit," replied Lady Gridborough; "but I might have been, for I was mixed up with the cart in some extraordinary fashion. I don't know what might have happened if it hadn't been for that young man there. He appeared on the scene as if he had dropped from the clouds; he disentangled me somehow, set the cart up again, and is now trying to persuade that fool of a pony that this isn't a circus."
At the sound of Celia's voice, the young man had turned his head and uttered an exclamation, and now that Celia saw his face, she, too, uttered a cry of astonishment; for she recognized Mr. Reginald Rex, the young man of the British Museum.