“You were asleep. I am sorry I woke you,” replied honest Otto, “but I came with a message from my mother. She is very anxious to speak to you. She—she wants you to come up to-night. If you would?”
Ursula hesitated. She saw the dog-cart standing by the gate, a village lad erect at the horse’s head. Continental Sabbaths are not like English; still, the Dominé’s daughter was not accustomed to Sunday driving.
“She made me come,” continued Otto, apologetically; “but if you’d rather stay—”
“I will ask papa, and be ready in five minutes,” she answered, promptly. Her pulse quickened. Doubtless there was some fresh trouble about Gerard. If so, it was her duty to “go through.”
Presently Otto saw her coming down the garden path with her strong, brisk step, in straw hat and woolley wrap, all light and bright, among the thick gayety of the wall-flowers and the pink flare of the hollyhocks.
“Why, it’s Beauty!” she cried, as she drew near, recognizing the mare.
“Yes, none of the other horses were available, and none of the men were about, so I harnessed her myself and came away. I hope Gerard won’t object, for once. It couldn’t be helped.”
No one but Gerard, and Gerard’s particular groom, was allowed to touch Gerard’s particular mare. She was his prime favorite, and deservedly so, for neither of the saddle-horses could stand in her shadow. But most horses, unlike men, have one or two faults, and Beauty’s was nervousness.
“You know we expected Gerard this morning,” began Otto, as the dog-cart bowled along. “He was to have brought my cousin with him, you know. But in their stead comes a telegram this afternoon to say that Helena is ill. Mother worries to know what is really the matter, and she has sent for you to give her the latest news of them all.”
Ursula did not answer. She had expected further embroilment. And, somehow, she was growing to feel awkward in Otto’s presence despite, or perhaps partly on account of, her father’s praise. That morning during church she had been sensible of his quiet admiration, and had experienced, for the first time in her existence, not the blush of being stared at, but the glow of being discreetly observed.