"Yes, 'Cæsar' knows him. We were talking about his grandmother."
"The horse's?"
Peter turned and beckoned to Lee; then, as John cantered up, Mr. Norcot regarded him critically.
"What a picture! I never saw such a wonderfully handsome lad—an Apollo's face. 'Disguised like a ploughman, Love stole from the sky'—eh, Grace?"
The heart of Miss Malherb beat fiercely, but in secret.
"He's no ploughman," she answered.
"I'm jealous," continued Peter. "Tut, tut! I feel the green-eyed monster's fiery breath scorching my liver!" Then he spoke to the groom, who now approached. "Give you good day, lad. And, John Lee, dost know that Mr. Bolitho of Ivybridge is seeking an underwhip for his pack of hounds? Say the word, and I'll commend you."
John's eyes flashed; he smiled and touched his hat.
"Thank you very kindly, sir—very kindly indeed; but I'm well suited in Mr. Malherb's service."
"You mean in Miss Malherb's, you lucky dog!" said the man of business. Then he winked genially, while Lee, reddening under his clear brown skin, galloped forward to open a gate that led into the outlying lands of the farm.