“Oh—er—the carriage will be here in a moment,” she said hastily. “Er—in fact—I think I hear it—I mean, see it—down the hill. Isn’t that Blake now, driving in from the Poplars road?” She shaded her eyes and peered, as if she were honestly trying to distinguish the driver of a romping steed, which was just then taking the lowest turn of the hill at a gallop. By strategy and force, Blake had succeeded in driving the mare round the tower and back to the Roseborough road.
“Ah, yes, Blake. You know I advised poor dear Mearely to sell Florence; but he said she was such a beautiful creature that he would rather risk his neck with her than sit safely behind an ugly beast. I should advise you to use Marquis, my dear lady. That mare is not reliable.”
“So Blake says. He threatened to take her to the farm yesterday. But he also says he can manage her; and, as he always does manage her I take his word for my safety and don’t worry.”
The Judge had a happy thought.
“You may regard your own safety thus lightly, fair lady. But will you not consider the place you hold in our hearts? Can any gallant man in Roseborough think of your unprotected loveliness in danger and keep his pulses steady?”
Inwardly Rosamond registered another plaintive and helpless protest against the misuse of her bright gown which circumstance was making that day. “They’ll drive me back to crape,” she said to herself, “in order to have my adventures free from persecution.” Aloud she said, veiling her eyes till they were only a peep of sparkling blue heavens through clouds:
“I have begun to feel lately that Roseborough’s gentlemen have indeed—so to speak—a perception of my lonely state.”
“Ah. As to the others I can’t say. They would hardly have the—ah—same interest as myself. No, hardly, I have a personal responsibility regarding you.”
She interrupted quickly.
“Has your invitation reached you yet, for to-night?”