Jack fixed her in the saddle of the tall horse and lengthened her stirrup with quite a professional air, while Milly and her mother watched the proceedings in a rather thrilled silence from the balcony of Number Sixteen. Their minds were dominated by a single thought, which, however, bore one aspect in the mind of Mrs. Wren, another in the mind of the faithful Milly.
“She is set on marrying him?”—Mrs. Wren.
“He is so nice, I hope he won’t disappoint her?”—Milly the faithful.
The cavalcade started. As if no such people as Marjorie and Blanche existed in the world, Mary waved the yellow-gloved hand of an excited schoolgirl to the balcony of Victoria Mansions. Jack accompanied it with an upward glance and a gravely-lifted hat.
In the maelstrom of promiscuous vehicles which makes Knightsbridge a thoroughfare inimical to man, Jack took charge of the good-looking hireling. With solemn care he piloted the upstanding one and his rather anxious rider into the calm of Albert Gate.
“I hope you are comfortable,” he found time to say; moreover, he found time to say it so nicely and sincerely, almost as if his only hope of happiness, here and hereafter, depended upon the answer, that the answer came promptly in the form of a gay “Yes,” although had she been quite honest she would have said she had never felt less comfortable in her life. Her horse was such a mountain of a fellow, that she might have been perched on the top of a very old-fashioned velocipede. Then the saddle was very different from the one at the riding school. It had much less room and fewer points d’appui to offer. As soon as her knee tried to grip the pommel she knew that she must not hope to get friends with it. She had embarked on a very rash adventure. And if she didn’t make a sorry exhibition of herself in the eyes of All London, including those two, she would have cause to thank her private stars, who, to give them their due, had certainly looked after her very well so far.
“It’s very sporting of her,” said Expert Knowledge to Jack Dinneford.
“I hope the gee won’t play the fool,” said Jack Dinneford to Expert Knowledge.
V
Hardly had they entered the Row, when Providence, of malice prepense, as it seemed, threw them right across the path of the enemy. Cousin Marjorie and Cousin Blanche, walking their horses slowly along by the rails, were within a very few yards. Moreover, they were coming towards them. Mary, aided by the sixth sense given to woman, was aware of a subtle intensity of gaze upon her, even before she could trace the source of its origin. She could feel it upon her—upon her and everything that was hers, from the crown of her rather too modish hat to the tip of her tall friend’s fetlock.