“I will.”
“Promise?”
“Promise faithfully.”
“That's all right. Now tell me—is my hat on one side?”
Cornish assured her that her hat was straight, and then they talked of other things, until they came to a ditch suitable for some jumping lessons, which he had promised to give her.
She was bewilderingly changeable, at one moment childlike, and in the next very wise—now a heedless girl, and a moment later a keen woman of the world—appearing to know more of that abode of evil than she well could. Her colour came and went—her very eyes seemed to change. Cornish thought of this open field which Marguerite's father had offered, and perhaps he thought of the hundred and fifty thousand pounds that lay beneath so bright a surface.
On returning to “The Brambles,” they found Mr. Wade reading the Times in the glass-covered veranda of that eligible suburban mansion. It being a Saturday, the great banker was taking a holiday, and Cornish had arranged not to return to town until midday.
“Come here,” shouted Mr. Wade, “and have a cigar while you read the paper.”
“And remember,” added Marguerite, slim and girlish in her riding-habit; “choke him off!”
She stood on the door-step, looking over her shoulder, and nodded at Cornish, her fresh lips tilted at the corner by a smile full of gaiety and mysticism.