"Take care; you'll be heerd," said an old man, who was leaning on his stick. "Take care. Don't 'ee chatter like a magpie. You'll be heerd, Peggy Loxley."
"Ha, ha!" laughed the woman, "I know why you are affrighted; I know. You've got your 'nephy' up to-day afore the justices, and you don't want to affront one of the justices; I see."
The old man shook his stick at the woman, and meantime Melville had accomplished his descent without splashing his shoes or the edge of his trowsers.
"I shall want a post-chaise ready, in the afternoon, after the Bath mail arrives," he said. "I expect a friend by the coach."
"Very good, sir," said the landlord, who now reappeared; "very good. The squire has ordered dinner for two at one o'clock."
"Where are you off to, Joyce?" Melville said.
"I am going to do some shopping, and to wait at Aunt Letitia's for father." Then Joyce drew a little nearer Melville. "Why can't your friend ride with you in the back seat?"
"Why? Because I don't choose to let him jog over the roads in such a rough conveyance."
Joyce's lip curled.
"It is good enough for father and for me," she said, "and ought to be good enough for you."