“Yes, auntie,” said the boy; and as he was not observed he leant forward, pressed one hand over the other as if taking a shorter hold of double reins, gave his right hand a twist to unwind an imaginary whiplash, followed by a wave something like the throwing of a fly with a rod, and then smiled to himself as he tickled up an imaginary off-leader, ending by holding himself up rigidly.
“That’s the way to tool ’em along,” he said to himself.
“Is there any fresh news in the village, Mr Trimmer?”
“No, my lady, nothing particular, except—er—a little report about Daniel Smart’s daughter.”
“Maria, Mr Trimmer. She has not returned?”
“No, my lady.”
“Surely she has settled down in her new place?”
The steward coughed, a little hesitating cough.
“Nothing—”
Lady Lisle stopped and glanced at Sydney, who turned away and became very much interested in one of the pictures, but with his ears twitching the while.