“Indeed, yes,” said the curate, smiling at his sister affectionately. “I know that you drive well, and are a clever horsewoman. I am only anxious about your driving a strange horse.”
“But Leo will be very careful,” said Mary, interposing to end a scene which was agony to her. “I am quite ready, Leo.”
“Yes, let’s go,” said the latter. “Hartley wants to sell you the horse at a profit, Dr North,” she added banteringly. “Good morning all.”
The curate said no more, but handed his sisters into the light low phaeton, Leo taking the reins in the most business-like manner before mounting, and then sitting upright on the raised seat in a way that would have satisfied the most exacting whip.
The mare started off at a touch, with her neck arched and her head well down, the wheels spinning merrily in unison with the sharp trot of the well-shaped hoofs.
“An uncommonly pretty little turn-out, old fellow,” said the doctor, as he sat in the saddle watching critically till the chaise turned the corner; “and your sister drives admirably.”
“Yes,” said the curate rather dolefully; “she drives like she rides.”
“And that’s better than any lady who follows our pack of hounds,” cried the doctor. “Now, if I had been anything of a fellow, I should have cantered along by their side, and shown myself off.”
“You would,” assented the curate; and his countenance seemed to say, “I wish you had.”
“But, there, I am not anything of a fellow, and I have patients waiting, so here goes.”