“Very soon, indeed, he will be able to be moved, I believe,” he said.
“There need be no hurry about that,” she said hastily; and then, to his great joy, she blushed.
“I hope we may have the pleasure of meeting Sir Philip Cranstoun before we leave,” he observed presently, and at once noted how her face clouded at the mention of her father’s name.
“I don’t know when he will return,” she said, and at once dropped the subject.
A little questioning as to the way in which she spent her time elicited the fact that already that morning, so early as half-past six, Zephyr had been saddled, and had carried his mistress for half an hour’s canter in the park.
“And tell me what you would like to do after breakfast,” she said. “Would you care to see the curiosities of the Chase—old pictures, and old armor, and old tapestries? Or would you like to quietly study the books in the library or smoking-room, with a cigar? Or would you like a ride or drive in the neighborhood?”
“If you haven’t had enough of riding, I should be very glad of a mount, if you and Zephyr will be so kind as to accompany me. The fact is, my friend and I have left our horses at an inn in a village close by, and I am fearful as to how they may be treated if left longer to the landlord’s tender mercies.”
“I shall not be more than a few minutes putting my habit on, and it will be so nice to have some one to ride with,” she said with a charming smile, as she left the room.
Mental pictures arose again in his mind. He imagined her riding in the Row beside him, the “mad viscount” and his lovely bride, every man there envying him his newly found treasure. Not only would she outshine every woman there in beauty, but also in the management of her horse. He pictured his friends and acquaintances clamoring for an introduction, and Stella talking to them with her sweet seriousness and total absence of coquetry and affectation. He longed, like any romantic schoolboy, for her love, which he set himself with all his heart and all his intellect to win.
She, for her part, liked him immensely. She had seen very few men, and she did not think him ugly by any means, but most interesting looking. She could not divine that as she accepted his aid to spring into her saddle, the mere contact of her slim foot, resting birdlike, in his hand, sent a quiver of delight through the young man’s frame. His manner appeared so unemotional, his face so unmoved, that she never once suspected the passion for her which was taking hold of his entire mind and soul. Nor while she talked freely and gayly to him about the tenantry and the country round, could he guess that before her eyes all the while there seemed to flit the remembrance of a bronzed and handsome face, the brows contracted in pain, the strong white teeth gnawing the lip under the drooping golden mustache, and the short brown curls disordered on a shapely head against the white pillow.