“Morning, ladies,” said Barclay. “I heard you were in. Glad to see you are no worse for your accident the other day.”
He glanced at Cora, who bowed rather stiffly, and said “Not at all.”
“I can’t say that, Mr Barclay. I’m a bit shook; but, as I said to my daughter, I wasn’t going to show the white feather, and the ponies go lovely now.”
“Well, I’m glad of that.”
“And I’m so much obliged to you for helping of me. Do you know, it was just like a scene in a piece we—er—saw once at the Lane.”
“Oh, it was nothing ma’am, what I did. Miss Dean, there, she took off all the honours. No cold, I hope.”
Cora did not answer.
“Plucky fellow, young Linnell; but poor, you know, poor.”
“So I’ve heard,” said Mrs Dean maliciously. “I was thinking of sending him ten guineas.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, ma’am,” said Barclay.