‘I hope,’ said the young man formally, ‘that you are none the worse for the shock, Mrs. Fiander?’
The blue eyes shot up an inquiring glance, and the industrious arm paused for a moment. What was the meaning of this altered tone, and why was the gaze now bent on her fraught with such cold disapproval? They had parted like old friends, and she had looked forward more than she knew to their next meeting.
‘Thank you,’ she returned, in a tone almost as frigid as Richard’s own; ‘my nerves are not easily upset.’
She believed the statement to be true; yet the equilibrium of her system was at that moment, if she had but realised it, very seriously disturbed.
‘Have ’ee sent for Nigger, Mrs. F.?’ inquired Isaac.
‘I sent James Bundy to look after him. He may not be fit to move for a day or two.’
‘Ah, he were a good beast,’ remarked the farmer; ‘’t is a pity ye did let ’en slip. ’T was wi’ drivin’ fast down-hill, my nevvy here d’ tell me, an’ that’s what he’ve never been used to. Ye should have druv ’en more carefully, my dear.’
Rosalie thought of the cause of her unusual haste on the previous day; it was her anxiety to escape from the too evident admiration of the grey eyes which were now bent on her with so different an expression. The memory confused her; the contrast stung her; she answered sharply, and with assumed indifference:
‘One cannot crawl down every slope to suit the convenience of a worn-out animal!’
‘He bain’t worn-out, though,’ returned her future husband, who invariably took things literally. ‘Nay, I should say he’d last a good few years yet, though he be past ’ard work. ’Lias al’ays used ’en gentle; ’t is wonderful how far that’ll go both with man an’ beast. “Fair an’ soft do go far in a day,” the sayin’ goes. Fair an’ soft—ah, ’t is trew, ’t is trew!’