“That must be Mr. O’Neill’s trap!” I cried excitedly, jumping down after Willy, who was already in the field. “Oh, Willy, do run and stop him! I must explain——”
“There’s no earthly use in trying to catch him now,” Willy answered morosely. “I’m not going to kill myself running after him, like a fool, for nothing at all.”
“Very well,” I rejoined; “if you won’t go, I will.”
My indignation with Willy alone sustained me through that dreadful run. I had to cut diagonally across the field in order to intercept Nugent. The ground was soft and sticky; my mud-encumbered skirt clung round me; and I should have had scant chance of catching him but for the fact that the road, curving a little at this point, led over a steep and stony bit of hill. I reached the wall of the field just as the horse was breaking into a trot at the top of the hill; but, fortunately for me, the groom at the back of the dog-cart saw the walking-stick which I feebly brandished to attract his attention—I had no breath wherewith to shout—and, recognizing me, called to his master to stop.
Nugent pulled up, and, turning round, took off his hat with a face of such astonishment that I became all at once aware of the appearance which I must present, but I came forward with a gallant attempt to appear unconscious of my heated face and general dishevelledness.
“How are you?” I panted. “I intended to be at home. Won’t you——?” Here my breath failed me, and I was obliged to eke out my sentence with a gesture in the direction of Durrus.
“Oh, thanks; it doesn’t matter in the least. Don’t let me take you back any sooner than you had intended,” replied Nugent, in a voice that told he had been nursing his wrath to keep it warm.
“I was going home,” I said, more intelligibly. “I am very sorry, but we were delayed by the rain.”
He got out of the dog-cart and shook hands with me across the low wall, on the farther side of which I was standing.