“When? Now?” said Francie, without much enthusiasm.
“Oh, not unless you like,” he replied in a palpably offended tone.
“Well, how d’ye know I wouldn’t like? Keep quiet now, Mr. Dysart, I’ve another one for you to hold!”
“I’m afraid I must be going—” began Christopher, looking helplessly at the billows of pink cambric which surrounded him on the floor. Lambert’s arrival had suddenly made the situation seem vulgar.
“Ah, can’t you sit still now?” said Francie, thrusting another length of material into his hand, and beginning to cut swiftly towards him. “I declare you’re very idle!”
Lambert stood silent while this went on, and then, with an angry look at Francie, he said, “I understand, then, that you’re not coming out riding to-day?”
“Do you?” asked Francie, pinning the seam together with marvellous rapidity; “take care your understanding isn’t wrong! Have you the horse down here?”
“Of course I have.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what we’ll do; we’ll have tea first, and then we’ll ride back with Mr. Dysart; will that do you?”
“I wanted to ride in the opposite direction,” said Lambert; “I had some business—”