"Virginia, this is Caunter, my bailiff," said Gaunt, concealing his unwillingness as best he could.
Virginia sat up, opened her eyes and summoned a smile. Young Caunter had descended from the trap, and stood by the stile. As his eyes fell upon the bride, they widened with very spontaneous surprise and admiration.
"I say, this is luck to meet you, to be the first to wish you joy, Mrs. Gaunt," he said boyishly. "My chief is hugely to be congratulated."
"Oh," said the pale bride, "it is kind of you to say that! But you ought to say he is to be pitied, when I behave in this weak way! I am usually quite a good walker."
Caunter fixed his eyes intently upon the quickly changing colour, and marked the faltering voice. "I've got my flask in my pocket," he said hesitatingly to Gaunt, who nodded and held out his hand.
"A thimbleful of brandy will be the best thing for you," said he, bending over his wife with the cup. "Drink that!"
As usual, she obeyed without dispute. Her colour came back by degrees as the two men exchanged a few sentences about the land.
"Do you feel well enough now to let me drive you back?" asked Gaunt presently.
"Oh, yes, of course. Thank you very much, Mr. Caunter." She held out the cup to its owner as she spoke the words, lifting her appealing chin, and giving him a smile such as he had thought existed only in romances.
The husband marked the emotions which expressed themselves in his bailiff's honest countenance. He noticed also the simplicity and unconsciousness of his wife's expression. Nothing he could take hold of.