“Yes; Stephen Lee. He taught me to ride, and I want him in my service now as a groom. He’s in this train.”
Lord Carthew did not speak for a few moments. He was, indeed, too much surprised at first to make any remark.
“Is it by your wish that the man is coming by this train?” he asked, at length, in a constrained voice.
She nodded.
“Yes. I have engaged him, and I thought he might as well come along now.”
“The fact is,” he said, after another pause, “I have a not unnatural prejudice against the fellow who was clumsy enough to have wounded my friend. I own, too, I don’t like the appearance of the man. There is a surly, gypsy-like look about him, which sets me against him.”
She turned and looked at him critically, a mocking light shining in her eyes.
“You don’t like his looks?” she repeated. “Well, in my opinion, he’s a lot better looking than you are.”
Lord Carthew flushed with annoyance.
Was this his ideal Lady of Shalott, this the girl like a fairy princess come to life, all poetry, romance, and charm? She looked back at him, full in the eyes. Suddenly her face changed, and seemed to grow softer, and more what used formerly to appear to him.