She caught sight of him, and returned a coquettish nod and smile to his low bow, but did not draw rein, though she must have seen his intention to hurry down to the gate; cantering gently on, as charming a specimen of early womanhood as ever rode gracefully upon a well-bred mare.
“By George! that settles it,” said the doctor. “Where’s the meet?”
He hurried in, snatched up the county paper, and found that it was at Fir Tree Hill, four miles beyond the Hall.
“The very thing,” he cried. “I’ll just get on my boots, and walk over to the Hall, get my mount, and go on. No, I won’t; I’ll drive.”
He rang the bell, and Mrs Milt—a very severe-looking, handsome, elderly lady—in the whitest of caps, bibs, and tuckers, appeared frowning, as if still charged with the remaining clouds of the late storm.
“Tell Dick to put the horse in the chaise.”
Mrs Milt tightened her lips, and made parallel lines in her forehead, but did not stir.
“Well?” said the doctor.
“Well?” said Mrs Milt.
“Did you hear what I said?”