"Think of those people wasting their afternoon on the lawn at the Hall, drinking bitter tea and eating heavy cake."
"I dare say some of them are above those things," replied Belle.
"Lady Isabelle and the Lieutenant?" queried the Secretary.
"Lady Isabelle and the Lieutenant," she acquiesced. "I wonder if there is really anything serious in that affair?"
She said this to probe Stanley, and, as a result, she put him on his guard.
"What do you think?" he asked cautiously. "I imagine the Dowager could never be induced to approve of it."
"The Marchioness!" cried Belle scornfully, as, having reached the summit of the hill with a long, downward slope before them, they remounted into the cart. "She doesn't count."
"Oh, doesn't she?" said the Secretary. "She counts a great deal, as"—he added half to himself—"I ought to know."
They had already turned homewards and were rattling down the hill, and at that moment they swung at top speed round a corner, to come upon a wrecked luggage cart, which blocked the whole road. Without hesitation, Stanley pulled the pony up on its haunches, bringing them to a stop with a tremendous jerk, within three feet of the obstacle; nearly throwing them out, and driving, for the time being, all thoughts of their interrupted conversation from the Secretary's head.
"Why, Tim!" he said, recognising the driver as one of Mrs. Roberts' servants. "You've had a spill!"