“Yes, sir,” said the groom, with the inevitable movement towards his hat, whip and hand going up together. “Her ladyship always drives them herself, sir. Fine whip, her ladyship, sir.”
This item of information surprised Jim Airth. Judging by Lord Ingleby’s age and appearance, he had expected to find Lady Ingleby a sedate and stately matron of sixty. It was somewhat surprising to hear of her as a fine whip.
However, he had no time to weigh the matter further. Passing an ivy-clad church on the village green, they swung through massive iron gates, of very fine design, and entered the stately avenue of Shenstone Park. To the left, in a group of trees, stood a pretty little gabled house.
“What house is that?” asked Jim Airth, quickly.
“The Lodge, sir.”
“Who lives there?”
“Mrs. O’Mara, sir.”
“Has Mrs. O’Mara returned?”
“I don’t know, sir. She was up at the house with her ladyship this morning.”
“Then she has returned,” said Jim Airth.