CHAPTER II
WHICH DESCRIBES A FORTUITOUS BUT FATEFUL MEETING
The Fates, those mysterious, unearthly sisters who are for ever busied upon the destinies of poor, finite humanity—the Fates, it seems, decreed that my Lady Herminia Barrasdaile, travelling full speed for Paris, should be suddenly precipitated upon the soft, resilient form of her devoted maid, Mrs. Betty, to that buxom creature’s gasping dismay and her own vast indignation; wherefore, the huge vehicle coming to an abrupt standstill, down fell the window and out went my lady’s angry, albeit lovely, countenance to demand instant explanation from coachmen, footmen and the world in general.
“Why, ye see, my lady,” answered red-faced Giles, the coachman, his Sussex calm entirely unruffled, “it do so ’appen as our off-side rear spring’s gone, mam.”
“Gone, man, gone? Who’s stolen it? What a plague d’you mean, Giles?” demanded her ladyship.
“I means broke, my lady, snapped, mam, parted-loike. We’m down on our back-axle—an’ theer y’are, mam!”
“Why then, mend it, Giles; mend it at once and let us get on—I must reach Paris to-night if possible.”
“Aye, we’ll mend it, my lady, sure to goodness—in toime——”
“How long?”
“Why, it du all depend, my lady—maybe an hour, maybe tu——”