“Yes, she is a spirited girl,” answered Mr. Quest, “and what a splendid woman she looks, doesn’t she? I never saw anybody who was so perfect a lady—there is nobody to touch her round here, unless,” he added meditatively, “perhaps it is Belle.”
“There are different types of beauty,” answered Edward Cossey, flinching.
“Yes, but equally striking in their separate ways. Well, it can’t be helped, but I feel sorry for that poor woman, and the old gentleman too—ah, there he is.”
As he was speaking the Squire, who was walking past with Colonel Quaritch, with the object of showing him the view from the end of the moat, suddenly came face to face with Edward Cossey. He at once stepped forward to greet him, but to his surprise was met by a cold and most stately bow from Mr. de la Molle, who passed on without vouchsafing a single word.
“Old idiot!” ejaculated Mr. Quest to himself, “he will put Cossey’s back up and spoil the game.”
“Well,” said Edward aloud and colouring almost to his eyes. “That old gentleman knows how to be insolent.”
“You must not mind him, Mr. Cossey,” answered Quest hastily. “The poor old boy has a very good idea of himself—he is dreadfully injured because Cossey and Son are calling in the mortgages after the family has dealt with them for so many generations; and he thinks that you have something to do with it.”
“Well if he does he might as well be civil. It does not particularly incline a fellow to go aside to pull him out of the ditch, just to be cut in that fashion—I have half a mind to order my trap and go.”
“No, no, don’t do that—you must make allowances, you must indeed—look, here is Miss de la Molle coming to ask you to play tennis.”
At this moment Ida arrived and took off Edward Cossey with her, not a little to the relief of Mr. Quest, who began to fear that the whole scheme was spoiled by the Squire’s unfortunate magnificence of manner.