“And yet they were kind to us, Ruthie.”
“But they never treated us honestly,” she said sadly.
That same intense look, a look almost of hunger, which transformed her, came into her face—the look which the flash-light had revealed to me that night on the denes. Sudden fear of what we might say next made me shake up the horse. The jolting of the wheels prevented us from conversing save by raising our voices.
We passed a man on the road. He shouted after us.
At first I thought he was chaffing. He kept on shouting.
“Why don’t you stop?” said Ruthita. “We may have dropped something.”
We had turned a bend. I looked back, but could not see him. I halted until he should come up. A big-framed man in a shooting-jacket, gaiters, and knickerbockers came swinging round the corner. I was surprised to recognize in him Lord Halloway.
“Halloa,” he shouted, “you’re going in my direction. Would you mind giving me a lift as far as Woadley?”
“Not at all,” I said. “This horse is restive. I can’t leave the reins. I suppose you can lower the back-seat without help.”
He drew level on the far-side from me and stood with his hand resting on the splashboard, gazing at Ruthita. “My sister,” I said shortly.