“His uncle was one of the Hilliards of Nanabeg. My father knew him well, and he was a fine, old-fashioned gentleman. That was what made this Mr Geoffrey come here for the hunting. He had heard his uncle speak of Bally William, and the Trelawneys take paying guests for the hunting season, so he arranged to come to them. He is not very well off, I’m afraid, for Joan tells me that he has to make his money out of glue, poor creature! But he must be nice, if he is the old squire’s nephew.”
Mademoiselle’s eyes rolled upward with an eloquent glance. It was a new article of faith that a nephew must needs be exemplary because his uncle had been a popular country squire, but she held her peace and amused herself by watching the play which went on between the two sisters during the next twenty-four hours. Esmeralda was plainly anxious and ill at ease, and made tentative allusions to the coming meet, which Bridgie received with bland obtuseness. She had not the courage to make her request in so many words, but instead brought forward a succession of gloomy prophecies calculated to dampen expectation in the mind of any but the most enthusiastic rider.
“It will be a heavy run to-morrow,” she said, shaking her head dismally as she glanced out of the window on the quickly melting snow. “I wouldn’t wonder if it poured with rain! It’s a fine draggled set the women will look before they get home.”
“I prefer the ground soft, and as for sunshine, it’s a thing I detest,—dazzling your eyes, and the poor mare’s into the bargain. Dull weather and a cloudy sky is what I hope to see, and for once it looks as if I should get my wish.”
“Well, it’s good weather you need, to get safely over that country. Mr O’Brien was saying only last season that it was the worst we had. There are some nasty bits of water this side of Roskillie, and they will be swollen with all this snow. Now next week over at Aughrin it really will be pleasant and comfortable.”
“I’m so glad, darling! I hope you will enjoy it!” Bridgie put her head on one side, with a smile of angelic sweetness. Then, as Esmeralda flounced from the room in disgust, turned back to Mademoiselle, laughingly penitent.
“Isn’t it wicked of me now, but I do enjoy it! She must care very much to be so shy about asking, for in an ordinary way she would have blurted it out long ago. Well, I shall just wait until to-morrow, and then I’ll say I am—” she paused to laugh over the word—“indisposed!”
There is many a true word spoken in jest, and Bridgie was reminded of the proverb when the next morning arrived, and her inclination for hunting or any other amusement died a sudden death through an incident which happened at the breakfast-table. The Major was the only one of the party who received a letter, and when he had perused it he gave an exclamation of dismay, and leant back in his chair with an expression of bewilderment. “It can’t be! It isn’t possible!” he muttered to himself, and when Bridgie inquired the reason of his distress, he threw the letter across the table with an impatient movement.
“That wretched bank! They say I have overdrawn. It’s impossible,—there was a decent balance only a few months back! They have made some mistake. I am positive it is a mistake.”
He left the room as he spoke, for breakfast had come to an end at last, after the usual long-drawn-out proceedings, and he had waited until he had finished his meal before opening the uninteresting looking envelope, and only Bridgie was left, sitting patiently behind the urn, with Mademoiselle to keep her company. She also rose as if to go, feeling that she might be de trop under the circumstances, but Bridgie raised a pale face, and said flatly—