Mrs Clay met them in the hall, breathless. 'Mercy on us, Sarah, w'atever 'appened to the car or Tom? I'm sure my 'eart was in my mouth w'en I saw you comin' along the park. I ran all the way down the stairs, thinkin' I should never see you alive w'en I got to the bottom,' cried the poor woman.
'It's all my fault. I'm so sorry, Mrs Clay! I begged Fox to get home in five minutes, and I made the car go when we got to the park-gates,' said Horatia penitently, as she linked her arm coaxingly in little Mrs Clay's.
'My dear, don't you go for to do such a thing again,' said Mrs Clay, smiling with indulgence at the girl; 'but it's not you I'm blamin', but Tom Fox, who ought to know better than endanger two lives, let alone takin' notice o' a child like you, if you'll excuse my speakin' so freely.'
'You are very good not to scold me; but I do so enjoy going at a tremendous speed, and the motor does run so smoothly, much better than ours, and mother is too nervous to go fast,' explained Horatia.
'I should think not, an' I don't blame 'er. For my part, I 'old on every time I go in it if my 'usband isn't lookin', an' I'd rather by 'alf walk or take the pony-chaise than go in it; but I'll stop Fox playin' such tricks. W'atever would your ma 'ave said if she'd seen you, I can't think.'
They had gone upstairs by this time, and were walking along the corridor at the back of the house, which looked out on the back-yard, which was coach-yard and garage, and Mrs Clay had scarcely finished the above speech when they heard the angry voice of Mr Mark Clay in the yard below.
'How dare you drive my car at that speed, with my daughter and the Duke of Arnedale's granddaughter in the car? Don't excuse yourself, but take yourself off this moment, and never show your face in Ousebank again, or I'll have you locked up, do you hear?' stormed Mr Clay at the chauffeur. But his speech was interspersed with stronger language than that.
Horatia dropped Mrs Clay's arm, and ran a little in front of her and Sarah, and both of them thought she was running to take refuge in her room from language to which she was not accustomed; but, on the contrary, she ran to the open window, and, leaning out of it, cried, 'Mr Clay, stop, please, and listen to me a moment.—Don't go, Tom Fox.'
At sight of Horatia, Mr Clay's face changed a little, and perhaps he felt a little shame at the language he knew she must have heard; but he was too angry to heed her. 'Excuse me, but this is my business, and my orders must be obeyed.—Get out of this, do you hear, Tom Fox?'
The man, white as a sheet, touched his hat, with a faint smile, to Horatia, and walked off.