Miss Aynton was standing on the last flight of the stone steps, and could hear every word that was spoken.
“Take the lower road,” replied my Lady very distinctly; and the well-hung chariot—pleasantest invention save the fair-weather Hansom, which the wit of coachmakers has yet sought out—rolled swiftly along the gravelled road.
“Then they are not going to the railway station,” exclaimed Rose aloud.
“No, miss,” assented the butler, as he stood at the open hall-door, regarding nature as though it were a novelty to him at that hour. “I should say it must be the postoffice. Perhaps my Lady wishes to get the letters this morning earlier than the Mirk's man can bring them.”
“Very likely, Roberts,” returned the young lady, a little disconcerted at her involuntary remark having been overheard. “Let us hope she will have good news. But I should scarcely have thought it was necessary to have gone herself.”
“Well, I am not so sure, miss. Mrs Rudd, the post-mistress at Dalwynch, is a great stickler for forms and that, and she might have made some difficulty, particularly as she did not obtain her place through our influence.”
“Whose influence, Roberts?”
“Ours, miss, to be sure. The Lisgard interest, you see, was given last election to the losing side. Although time was, I can well recollect, when poor Sir Robert had everything of that sort at his disposal that was vacant in these parts; but them yallers, they have gone and spoilt it all this time.” And with a sigh of regret for the golden age of patronage, and a shake of the head directed against the levelling opinions at present in the ascendant, Mr Roberts went off to his breakfast.
No sooner had the wheels of the chariot began to move, than Lady Lisgard observed to her companion: “You have the letter with you that I dictated last night, have you not?”
“Yes, my Lady; here it is, though not sealed down, in case you might have thought of anything to add.”