“Well, that’s very bad,” acknowledged Miss Stornaway. “But I do not see why you should take his place!”
“But you must see that Ben is a great deal too young to remain here alone!” John pointed out.
“You are the oddest creature! How do you come here? Why—Oh, I wish you will explain it to me!”
“I will,” he promised. “It is quite a long story, however. Won’t you step down from your gig? I shan’t invite you to come into the toll-house, for although I have induced Ben to sweep out the kitchen it is not at all tidy, but we could sit on the bench.”
Her eyes danced; it seemed as if she were half inclined to fall in with this suggestion, but at that moment the groom said something to her in a low voice, directing her attention to the road ahead.
Coming towards the gate, on a showy-looking hack, was a thickset man, rather too fashionably attired for his surroundings. He wore white hunting-tops, a florid waistcoat with several fobs and seals depending from it, a blue coat with long tails and very large buttons, and a beaver hat with a exaggeratedly curled brim.
The laughter went out of Miss Stornaway’s eyes; she said rather hurriedly: “Some other time, perhaps. Please to open the gate now!”
John went to it immediately. It had a fifteen foot clearance, and the man on the gray hack reined in short of its sweep towards him. He looked rather narrowly at John for a moment, but rode forward as soon as the gate stood wide enough, and reined in alongside the gig. The beaver was doffed with a flourish, revealing exquisitely pomaded and curled black locks.
“Ah, Miss Nell, you stole a march on us, did you not?” challenged the gentleman jovially. “But I have found you out, you see, and come to meet you!”
“I have been to Church, sir, if that is what you mean,” Miss Stornaway replied coldly.