“You get me a mount because it is so unpleasant to go to the meet on an old chaise-horse, and then talk of putting my hunter in the chaise.”
“Grey Joe was not good enough for the purpose,” said the curate gravely, “and at your earnest wish, my dear Leo, I have pinched in several ways that my sister, who is so fond of hunting, may not be ashamed before her friends.”
“Pinched!”
“Yes, my dear, pinched myself and Mary. Our consols money only gives three per cent., and it is hard work to make both ends meet. You have your mount, and I cannot afford to keep two horses, so Grey Joe must go. We must have the use of a horse in the chaise, so the mare will have to run in harness sometimes.”
Leo rose from her chair with her eyes flashing and cheek aflame.
“I declare it’s insufferable,” she cried, with a stamp of the foot. “Oh, I am so sick of this life of beggary and pinching! All through this season I have been disgraced by that wretched old horse, and now when people who know me—Oh, I cannot bear to speak of it!”
“My dear sister!”
“It’s cruel—it’s abominable. If it had been Mary, she could have had what she pleased.”
“My dear Leo,” began Mary, looking up at her in a troubled way.
“Hold your tongue! You make mischief enough as it is. You always side with Hartley, who has no more feeling than a stone.”