“Her ladyship” was pleased to explain.
“It is a new car, so Fritz took it for a long spin to-day,” she said. “You will understand, Mr. Bolland, that the engine has to find itself, as the phrase goes.”
“Expensive work, ma’am,” smiled John, rising. “An’ now, good folk,” he continued, “wheä’s coomin’ te t’ love feast?”
There was a general movement. The assembly dear to old-time Methodism appealed to the majority of the company. Mrs. Saumarez raised her lorgnette once more.
“What is a love feast?” she asked.
“It’s a gathering o’ members o’ our communion, ma’am,” was Bolland’s ready answer.
“May I come, too?”
Instantly a rustle of surprise swept through her hearers. Even John Bolland was so taken aback that he hesitated to reply. But the lady seemed to be in earnest.
“I really mean it,” she went on. “I have a spare hour, and, as I don’t care for dinner to-night, I’ll be most pleased to attend—that is, if I may?”
The farmer came nearer. He looked at the bulbous eyelids, the too-evenly tinted skin, the turgid veins in the brilliant eyes, and perhaps saw more than Mrs. Saumarez dreamed.