“Our part is done, we vanish!” she cried. “I hope I have been better brought up than to interfere with that more important part of creation which was provided for men to shoot. Go to your birds.”
He was heard to mutter—
“Hang the birds!”
“Come, come!” she called to the others. “Lord Milborough’s patience is failing him so completely that he is on the verge of bad language. We are in the way.”
Wareham had neither smile nor word, but a look in place of them in which he blissfully fancied reproach lurked.
The wood-shed was nearly a mile from the house, and in the nearest curve of road two or three carriages were waiting; one was Lady Fanny’s pony-carriage. Miss Dalrymple asked to be taken in it.
“I am obliged to drive to Risley, not an interesting little town for a stranger,” Lady Fanny demurred, but Anne held to her wish.
“Are you two going off together?” Mrs Martyn asked discontentedly, only to be answered by a laugh from Anne, and a gesture which pointed out Lady Dalrymple to her as a companion.
“Blanche detests my step-mother,” Anne explained as they drove away. The remark jarred on Fanny, who thought only close friendship excused family criticisms, and read them in the speech. She expressed civil regret that the carriage would hold no more.
“Don’t regret it,” Anne said contentedly. “This is the first time that you and I have been alone together. But you are a very princess of hostesses.”