“That agrees with what Scanlan said the other day,” said Martin.
“Scanlan!” echoed her Ladyship, with most profound contempt.
“Who is this Scanlan?” asked Repton.
“There he comes to answer for himself,” said Martin. “The fellow drives neatly. See how cleverly he swept round that sharp turn! He may be 'at fault' about the world of politics; but, my word for it! he is a rare judge of a hack.”
“And, now that you suggest it,” said Repton, musingly, “what an instinctive shrewdness there is on every subject,—I don't care what it is,—about fellows that deal in horse flesh. The practice of buying and selling, searching out flaws here, detecting defects there, gives a degree of suspectful sharpness in all transactions; besides that, really none but a naturally clever fellow ever graduates in the stable. You smile, my Lady; but some of our very first men have achieved the triumphs of the turf.”
“Shall we have Scanlan in and hear the news?” asked Martin.
“Not here. If you please, you may receive him in the library or your own room.”
“Then, come along, Repton. We can resume this affair in the afternoon or to-morrow.” And, without waiting for a reply, he passed his arm within the other's, and led him away. “You have been too abrupt with her, Repton; you have not made due allowances for her attachment to family influences,” said he, in a whisper, as they went along.
Repton smiled half contemptuously.
“Oh, it's all very easy for you to laugh, my dear fellow; but, trust me, there's nothing to be done with my Lady in that fashion.”