‘Oh, they are as kind as they know how, but they don’t know. That’s the thing, or old Frank would be ashamed to give me such a dirty little allowance. He has only himself to thank if I have to come upon him for more. Found out about the Blackbird colt, has he? What a bore! And tin I must have out of him by hook or by crook if he cuts up ever so rough. I must send off this bird first by the post to confute Stanhope and make him eat dirt, and then see what’s to be done.’
‘Indeed, Bertie, I don’t think you will see him to-night. His head is dreadful, and Aunt Mary has sent for Mr. Trotman.’
‘Whew! You have not got anything worth having, I suppose, Conny?’
‘Only fifteen shillings. I meant it for—
But you shall have it, dear Bertie, if it will only save worrying them.’
‘Fifteen bob! Fifteen farthings you might as well offer. No, no, you soft little monkey, I must see what is to be made of him or her ladyship, one or the other, to-day or to-morrow. If they know I have been at the place it is half the battle. Consequence was! Provided they don’t smell out this unlucky piebald! I wish Stanhope hadn’t been such a beast!’
At that moment, too late to avoid her, Lady Northmoor, pale and anxious, came up the path and was upon them. ‘Your uncle is asleep,’ she began, but then, starting, ‘Oh, Conny. Poor Whitewing. Did you find him?’
Constance hung her head and did not speak. Then her aunt saw how it was.
‘Herbert! you must have shot him by mistake; your uncle will be so grieved.’
Herbert was not base enough to let this pass. He muttered, ‘A fellow would not take my word for it, so I had to show him.’