Such intelligence was being communicated as the party stood together in a group, when there was a light tinkling of bells, and two ladies in a light open carriage, drawn by two spirited ponies, dashed round the knoll; and at the moment something must have gone wrong with them, for there was a start, a pull, a call of “Raymond! Raymond!”
Throwing his bridle to Herbert Bowater, he sprang to the horses’ heads.
“Mr. Poynsett! Thank you! I beg your pardon,” said the lady, recovering herself; and Rosamond instantly perceived that she must be Lady Tyrrell, for she was young-looking, very handsome, and in slight mourning; and her companion was Miss Vivian. Julius, holding his surviving glass to his eye, likewise stepped forward. “Thank you, it was so stupid,” the lady ran on. “Is not there something wrong with the traces? I don’t know how they got themselves harnessed, but there was no keeping at home.”
“I think all is right,” said Raymond, gravely, making the examination over to a servant. “Let me introduce my wife, Lady Tyrrell.”
The lady held out her hand. “I hope we shall be excellent neighbours.—My sister.—You remember little Lena,” she added to the brothers. “She stole a march on us, I find. I heard of your encounter on Friday. It was too bad of you not to come in and let us send you home; I hope you did not get very wet, Lady Rosamond.—Ah! Mr. Strangeways, I did not know you were there,” she proceeded, as the youngest of the officers accosted her; “come over and see us. You’re better provided now; but come to luncheon any day. I am sure to be at home at half-past one; and I want so much to hear of your mother and sisters.” And with a universal bow and smile she nourished her whip, her ponies jangled their bells, and the ladies vanished.
“Stunning pair that!” was young Strangeways’ exclamation.
“Most beautiful!” murmured Cecil, in a low voice, as if she was quite dazzled. “You never said she was like that,” she added reproachfully to Julius.
“Our encounter was in the dark,” he answered.
“Oh, I did not mean the young one, but Lady Tyrrell. She is just like a gem we saw at Firenze—which was it?”
“Where?” said Raymond, bewildered.