"No, you bet!" and Toney flew off laughing heartily.
"Can't get the fear of Aunt Dove out of his constitution, poor darling, sort of chronic disease," she said to herself.
Happily the day turned into a dull drizzle, and the county magnates stayed indoors, or they might have seen a flying machine guided by the heiress, dashing up to the station. Toney timed herself always to be exact, with no time to spare. Her face was radiant. She had settled her plan of campaign, and as she walked up and down well "reefed in" with a serge coat and skirt of the simplest description, no one would have guessed that she was the envy of all the impoverished aristocrats of the county. She looked more cheerful than she felt, however. "There's many a slip between the cup and the lip," and that tiresome proverb would float about on the surface of Toney's brain.
The train flustered in with a great show of consequentiality, the slow porters had on the look of "Take it easy, pray," as Toney ran up and down looking for the great man, whose father had once kept a shop. For a moment she thought he had failed to appear, then from the other end of the platform a tall man with a very remarkable face came slowly towards her. He carried a violin case, and a man-servant followed him laden with other luggage.
Toney knew at once this was her man, and she seized the porter.
"Mr. Smith, will you please get a fly and put that gentleman and all the luggage in it. I'm driving the other gentleman in the dog-cart."
The porter touched his hat with a grin, he was not accustomed to being called Mr. Smith, nor to hear a man-servant called a gentleman.
Then Toney began her campaign.
"How do you do? I know you are Mr. Frank Weston, because—there's no one else, is there—I've come to drive you home. I'm Toney Whitburn, so now we're introduced. Lady Dove's giving the party, but I take all the trouble. There's a fly for your man, and if you want the violin with you I'll put it behind us."
Frank Weston had been much dissatisfied with himself for accepting the munificent private offer for playing in a private house. The money had tempted him, as he had lately heard of a broken-down violinist who had nothing but the workhouse before him, and he had infinite pity for failure and poverty. For himself—now his parents were well provided for—he cared nothing at all. The one romance of his life had failed. He had loved once and once only. Jeanie Hamilton had touched his heart with her beauty and her talent, and strange to say her pride, but when her mother had told him her daughter refused his love, and had intimated that their social positions were too far removed, the genius had lifted his head more proudly than any aristocrat.