An hour after the race, Milbanke, standing at his bedroom window, caught a glimpse of Larry riding slowly across the fields towards the avenue with the evidently unwilling Mick held securely under his arm; and a few minutes afterwards, a noisy bell, clanging through the house, informed him that luncheon had been served.
The two girls were already in the dining-room when he entered. Clodagh had changed her riding habit for a neat holland dress; her hair was smoothly plaited, and only a lingering trace of the morning's excitement burned in her cheeks.
As the guest entered, she came forward at once and pointed to his chair with a pretty touch of gracious hospitality.
"Where is your cousin?" he said, as he responded to her gesture.
She flushed momentarily.
"Gone!" she answered laconically. Then, conscious that the reply was curt, she made haste to amend it. "He's gone home to lunch," she added. "Aunt Fan wanted him back. She's a great invalid and always worrying about him. I suppose invalids are never like other people. Will you please help yourself?"
She smiled and indicated a steaming stew—sufficient to feed ten hungry people—that Hannah, acting in Burke's absence, had planted heavily upon the table.
"We always begin lunch with meat," Clodagh explained; "but we always finish with tea and whatever Hannah will make for us to eat. If you stay long enough you'll be able to tell all Hannah's tempers by what we get at lunch. When she's terribly cross we have bread and jam; when she's middling we get soda bread; but when she's really and truly nice we have currant loaf or griddle cake!"
She glanced round mischievously at the red face of the factotum.
Hannah, who had been wavering between offence and amusement, suddenly succumbed to the look.