“There’s a horse—look at it—for a young gal to ride! Well, all I can say is that I hope his lordship means to marry her. I never saw such goings on.”
“That there habit do fit well though, I must say that,” said Smithson.
“Fit?” said Fullerton. “Hah! The rectory’s a disgrace!”
But it so happened that riding was not always the order of the day. Long brisk walks were taken at times, much to the bemiring of Mr Perry-Morton’s patent leather shoes; and upon one of these occasions it had been arranged that Julia and Cynthia were to make a call or two upon some of the poor cottagers, who had been rather neglected during the past two weeks. Lord Artingale was going to ride over, and he and Mr Perry-Morton were to bring forward the ladies to meet them, if the Misses Perry-Morton could walk so far.
“Why, Julie, it’s quite a treat to be alone once more,” said Cynthia, merrily, as they walked briskly along the sandy lanes, calling at first one cottage and then another.
“Treat!” said her sister, smiling, “I thought—”
“Hush! I won’t be teased. But, Julie dear, I won’t be a hypocrite to you. I do tease him and laugh at him, but he is nice, and I think I’m beginning to like him ever so.”
“I like him very, very much,” said Julia, naïvely. “He’s a very pleasant, manly fellow.”
“Yes, isn’t he, dear? But, Julie, it’s too bad, I know, of me to leave you so long with that dreadful bore. What does he say to you?”
“Say!” said Julia, with a smile; “really I hardly know. Talks about art and nature’s colour, and asks me if I do not find a want of thoroughness in our daily life.”