While Hugh was speaking, Grace's head had drooped lower and lower, as if she shrank under the weight that was laid upon her; but now she looked up bravely, with a lovely light in her eyes. "Can't you, Hugh?" she said. "It's a pity you can't, Hugh, because—you could have her for the asking."
CHAPTER XVIII.
UNCLE JOHN'S BIRTHDAY
If Timothy Bannan has had scant mention in these pages, it is not because he was not an important personage at Fernley. King of the stable, governor of the dogs, chief authority on all matters pertaining to what Gerald called "four-leggers," he was as much a part of the establishment as Frances herself. In person he was a small man, with reddish-gray whiskers, an obstinate chin, and a kindly twinkling eye. He usually wore a red waistcoat with black sleeves, and he was suspected of matrimonial designs on Elizabeth.
One morning, not long after the events of which I have been telling, Bannan approached his master, who was tying up roses, Margaret, as usual, attending him with shears and ball of twine.
"If you please, sir," said Bannan, touching his hat, "would it be convenient for me to take a horse this evening, sir?"
Mr. Montfort straightened himself, and looked with friendly interest at his retainer.
"A horse, Bannan? Certainly! What horse do you want?"