She nodded.
“He’s a perfect cherub,” she assured him warmly. “Any one could manage him—even when he has an attack of high spirits. He’s got a mouth like velvet.”
“There’s something to be said for the driver’s hands, possibly,” suggested Coventry, with a smile. “Light hands make a light mouth. Still, I’m glad to know he suits you.”
He whistled up his dog, who came racing to heel, then, with a grave bow which briefly included Mrs. Hilyard, lifted his hat and resumed his way along the lane.
Ann drove on, and ten minutes later pulled her horse up at the Priory doors. Mrs. Hilyard stepped lightly out of the trap. She moved beautifully, with a deer-like ease and grace.
“Now when will you and your brother come over to lunch?” she asked, as she shook hands. “He promised—for you both—to come and help me with advice about arranging my rooms. You must go on as you’ve begun—being neighbourly, you know,” she added quaintly.
“But we shall be cut out now by an older friend,” said Ann, when they had fixed a day for the lunch appointment.
“Oh, no”—quickly. “No man can take the place of a woman friend—and I hope you’re going to be that?”
Ann smiled down into the lovely upraised face with frank comradeship.
“I hope so, too,” she returned heartily. “Still, it’s jolly for you finding an old friend like Mr. Coventry living next door, so to speak, isn’t it?”