Mr. Lambert did not trouble himself to reply to this sally. He was looking at the figure in the olive-green habit that was advancing along the path of sunlight to the doorway, and thinking that he had done well to write that letter on the subject of the riding that Francie might expect to have at Lismoyle. Charlotte turned her head also to look at the radiant, sunlit figure.
“Why, child, were you calling Norry just now to melt you down and pour you into that garment? I never saw such a waist! Take care and don’t let her fall off, Roddy, or she’ll snap in two!” She laughed loudly and discordantly, looking to Mr. Lambert’s groom for the appreciation that was lacking in the face of his master; and during the arduous process of getting Miss Fitzpatrick into her saddle she remained on the steps, offering facetious suggestions and warnings, with her short arms akimbo, and a smile that was meant to be jovial accentuating the hard lines of her face.
At last the green habit was adjusted, the reins placed properly between Francie’s awkward fingers, and Mr. Lambert had mounted his long-legged young chestnut and was ready to start.
“Don’t forget Lucy expects you to tea, Charlotte,” he said as he settled himself in his saddle.
“And don’t you forget what I told you,” replied Charlotte, sinking her voice confidentially; “don’t mind her if she opens her mouth wide; it’ll take less to shut it than ye’d think.”
Lambert nodded and rode after Francie, who, in compliance with the wishes of the black mare, had hurried on towards the gate. The black mare was a lady of character, well-mannered but firm, and the mere sit of the saddle on her back told her that this was a case when it would be well to take matters into her own control; she accordingly dragged as much of the reins as she required from Francie’s helpless hands, and by the time she had got on to the high road, had given her rider to understand that her position was that of tenant at will.
They turned their backs on the town, and rode along the dazzling, dusty road, that radiated all the heat of a blazing afternoon.
“I think he did you pretty well with that habit,” remarked Lambert presently. “What’s the damage to be?”
“What do you think?” replied Francie gaily, answering one question with another after the manner of her country.
“Ten?”