‘Well, guess! And is this your own horse and trap, Dick?’
‘Of course it is.’
‘Who was that man? He touched his hat to you.’
Mutimer glanced back carelessly.
‘I’m sure I don’t know. Most people touch their hats to me about here.’
It was an ideal winter day. A feathering of snow had fallen at dawn, and now the clear, cold sun made it sparkle far and wide. The horse’s tread rang on the frozen highway. A breeze from the north-west chased the blood to healthsome leaping, and caught the breath like an unexpected kiss. The colour was high on Alice’s fair cheeks; she laughed with delight.
‘Oh, Dick, what a thing it is to be rich! And you do look such a gentleman; it’s those gloves, I think.’
‘Now we’re going into the village,’ Mutimer said presently. ‘Don’t look about you too much, and don’t seem to be asking questions. Everybody ‘ll be at the windows.’