The curate shook his head.
“No,” he said; “poor old Joe will have to so, and I wish him a wood master.”
“Poor old Joe!” said Mary, sighing, as she thought of many pleasant drives.
“Grey Joe! Go!” said Leo, with her lips apart. “Then what will you do for the chaise?”
“Use the new mare.”
Leo looked at him with speechless indignation.
“Put the new mare in the chaise?” she faltered.
“Yes, my dear. The man says she goes well in harness.”
“Oh, Hartley,” cried Leo, flushing now with indignation, “that would be too absurd!”
“Why, my dear?”