"Of course. If it is not your ridiculous work that stands in the way, then you must needs rush off to the stable. It is lucky for me, Griff, that I can sleep with such a thankless son on my conscience."
"Talk to Lassie about it, mother: she will have exercise, and no one but I can manage her properly. That's what I like about the mare; she is twice as faithful as any woman I have come across—except my mother."
Mrs. Lomax frowned, a real frown; she did not like Griff's occasional flippancies about women.
"I think, boy, if you had stayed at Marshcotes, your opinions might have kept more wholesome. Your south-country women must be curious, Griff."
He smiled a little at her prejudices, and patted her on her rough grey hair, and went out. But a cloud was on his face as he mounted Lassie, standing saddled at the door.
"I think," he murmured, "that if mother knew about Sybil Ogilvie, and the dance she led me, she would never speak to me again."
The blood rushed hot to his cheeks, and Lassie was surprised by an impatient jerk of the snaffle. She would stand a good deal from Griff, but an unprovoked assault of this kind, before ever they had cleared the garden gravel, was too much for any mare of good breeding. She shook her head just once, and tore through the open gate like a thing bewitched.
"I hope he won't break his neck; it is rather a failing in the family," sighed Mrs. Lomax, patiently, as she watched him down the highroad.
Griff soon brought the mare to reason, and explained to her that, having lately dined, he was in no mood for such violent exercise. Lassie took this as an apology and forgave him; and they ambled contentedly round by Ling Crag, Wynyates, and back again. As they were crossing the moor close to Marshcotes, Griff espied a tall figure making towards them. It proved to be Kate Strangeways, returning from the village grocery with a well-filled basket. He drew rein and slipped off his nag.
"You're looking tired," he said, in his direct way, with a keen glance at her face.