She left the room. It was the second morning of their stay at The Martens, and before going to look after Effie and the servants she passed out on the verandah and stood there for a moment, looking at the winter landscape and then down at the houses of the Crowsnesters.
She felt dimly antagonistic to the people who lived in those comfortable-looking, red-tiled houses set about with gardens. She fancied women sitting by those fires whose smoke curled up in thin wreaths through the winter air, women who would cast their noses up at the idea of a governess, and their heads and eyes after their noses at the idea of a supposititious "niece." She imagined gentlemen addicted to bridge who would drain, perhaps, her narrow resources.
One thing pleased her. The neighbourhood looked prosperous, and the charitable appeals, she thought, could not be very exacting. On this she reckoned without the knowledge that a large amount of English charity begins and ends abroad.
Then she turned, and, still delaying before going to see after the servants and Effie, she passed round to the stableyard.
Andy, who was passing across the yard with a bucket in his hand, touched his cap, put down the bucket, and with a grin on his face, but without a word, opened the upper door of the loose-box that held the treasure and pride of the Frenches.
Scarcely had he done so than the sharp sound of horse-hoofs on flags was heard, and a lovely picture framed itself in the doorway—the head of Garryowen.
Leaving aside the beauty of women, surely above all things beautiful and sentient the head of a beautiful horse is supreme. Where else in the animal kingdom will you find such grace, such sensitiveness, such delicacy, combined with strength? Where else, even in the faces of men, such soul?
Even in the faces of men! The girl thought of the faces of the men she had come across in life, and she contrasted those heads, stamped with dulness, with greed, with business, or with pleasure—she contrasted these images of God with the finely chiselled, benign, and beautiful head of Garryowen.
Could it be possible that Mr. Giveen would have the impudence to call Garryowen a lower animal?
Even Andy's "mug" looked like the mask of a gargoyle by contrast, as she turned from the loose-box and made her way back to the house.