“And to show how consistent I am,” said Oldroyd, “I’ve just promised to send your maid a bottle of medicine. But come, sir, I’m just off among the hills to see a patient. It’s a lovely day; only about six miles. Come with me, and I’ll leave the pony and walk.”
Alleyne shook his head.
“No,” he said, “I should be very poor company for you, Oldroyd—yes, I will go,” he cried, recollecting himself. “Wait a minute and I’ll be back.”
“All right,” replied the doctor, who amused himself peeping among the various glasses till Alleyne came back in a closely-fitting shooting jacket, for which he had changed the long, loose dressing-gown he had worn.
“That’s better,” cried Oldroyd, approvingly; “why, Alleyne, you will be worth two of the patients I saw a few months ago if you go on like this.”
Alleyne smiled sadly, and took a soft felt hat from its peg; and as he did so, he sent his hand again to his long, wild hair, and thought of his sister’s words, the colour coming into his cheeks, as he said in an assumed easy-going manner,—
“It’s time I had my hair cut.”
“Well, not to put too fine a point upon it, Alleyne, it really is. I like short hair, it is so comfortable on a windy day.”
The colour stayed in Alleyne’s cheeks, for, in spite of himself, he felt a little nettled that his companion should have noticed this portion of his personal appearance; but he said nothing, and they went out into the yard, where, unfastening the pony, Oldroyd threw the rein over the docile little creature’s neck and then tied it to a loop in the saddle, after which the pony followed them like a dog, till they reached its stable, where it was left.
“Now,” cried Oldroyd, “what do you say to a good tonic?”