'To-morrow I am going over your mills, you know, Mr Clay,' she informed him.
He opened his mouth as if to protest, but only said, 'You'll be too tired; better rest a few days. You shall go over the mills before you go home. Not that there is anything so very wonderful to see, or to interest a young lady like you.'
'I haven't half-written my essay yet; I expect I shall find some more to put in after I've been round with you,' explained Horatia.
'Don't you go putting me and my mills into print,' said the millionaire, looking almost afraid.
Horatia only laughed merrily as ever. 'I'll let you read my essay before I send it up. Yes'—clapping her hands—'that's an awfully good idea. You shall read it through, and tell me anything I have left out; and you shall sign at the end, "Audited and found correct.—Mark Clay, millionaire mill-owner."'
It was impossible not to laugh at the girl, and equally impossible to be gloomy while Horatia was bubbling over with good spirits. The drooping line round Mrs Clay's mouth had almost disappeared since Horatia's advent.
During this drive even, Horatia had managed to chase away Mr Clay's ill-humour, and his wife leant back comfortably, with a feeling that she need not fear any storms, as the dear young lady would 'keep things pleasant.'
When they got out of the motor and were going together to their rooms, Horatia took Sarah's arm and began dancing along the polished surface with a rinking movement. 'I thought you said you were tired out, and I thought, too, that the rink was specially built to prevent you from rinking here,' observed the latter, who was trying, with some difficulty, to keep her balance and her dignity during this peculiar mode of progress.
'So I did. I must stop,' agreed Horatia.
'You said I had changed, and that you did not know me before you came here. And I certainly did not know you,' remarked Sarah abruptly.