“Thérèse is charming, and it’s so much more friendly to use Christian names at Christmas-time. I shall begin at once. We want you to help us with the decoration of the rooms, Thérèse! We shall be just a family party, but Jack will be at home, and we will have games and charades to make it lively. We might rehearse something this morning, mightn’t we, Joan dear?”
“I mightn’t!” replied “Joan dear” promptly, “because why?—I’ve got something better to do. There is plenty of time still, and you will agree with me later that my business is important. If you put on a cloak, Thérèse, I will come back for you in ten minutes, and take you to the stables to join father and Pixie. It will amuse you, I’m sure.”
She left the room without waiting for a reply, and Bridgie heaved a sigh of disappointment.
“She’s just mad after horses, that girl. Now she will be off with father, and not a sight of her shall we have until afternoon. It’s easy to say there is time to spare, but to-morrow we must decorate, and look after all the arrangements for Jack’s return, and I do hate a scramble. However, when Esmeralda says she won’t, she won’t, and there’s an end of it. You had better go with her, dear, while I interview the servants.”
“I suppose I had,” said Mademoiselle slowly. She thought Esmeralda selfish and autocratic, but she was fascinated, despite herself, by her beauty and brightness, and anxious to know her better; so she obediently went up to her room to heap on the wraps, for the morning was cold, though by this time the sun was struggling from behind the clouds. On the way down she was joined by Esmeralda in riding costume—a most peculiar riding costume, and, extraordinary to relate, most unbecoming into the bargain. Mademoiselle’s critical glance roamed from head to foot, back again from foot to head, while Esmeralda stood watching her with tightened lips and curious twinkling eyes. Then Bridgie appeared upon the scene, and stopped short, uttering shrill cries of astonishment, as she looked at the slovenly tie, the twisted skirt, the general air of dishevelment and shabbiness.
“Esmeralda, you’re an Object! Look at the dust on your skirt. You’ve not half brushed it, and everything is hanging the wrong way. It’s a perfect disgrace you look to ride out with any man!”
“I’m delighted to hear it! That’s just my intention,” replied the young lady, tugging the disreputable skirt still further awry, and nodding her beautiful head, with an air of mysterious amusement. The blue serge had a smudge of white all down one side, which looked suspiciously as if the powder-box had been spilt over it. A seam gaped open and showed little fragments of thread still sticking to the cloth.
If Esmeralda’s intention was to look disreputable, she had certainly accomplished her object; and when the stables were reached she took care to place herself conspicuously, so that her father’s eyes must of necessity rest upon her.
“I’m going to ride to Roskillie with you, dad! It’s a fine morning, and I thought you would be the better of my company.”
“That’s a good girl!” cried the Major cheerily; then his brow puckered, and he stared uneasily at the untidy figure. He was so unnoticing about clothes that it required a good deal to attract his attention, but surely there was something wrong about the girl’s get-up to-day? He kept throwing uneasy glances towards her while the horses were brought out, and Esmeralda strolled about in a patch of sunshine, and picked her steps gingerly over the muddles, like a model of fastidious care. She sprang to the saddle, light as thistledown, and curved her graceful throat with a complacent toss, as the groom smoothed her skirt, bringing the white stain into full prominence.