"Wright, did not Mr. Beavan say, when I bought that new bay mare of him, that she had carried a lady to hounds?"
"Yes, Sir John; Miss Beavan rode her last season."
"Ah, she is a good rider. Well, I wish you would put a side-saddle and a skirt on her, and exercise her this morning. I might want to—to lend her to a lady; but she must be perfectly quiet. You can take her out every day this week."
Sir John went on his way, leaving the worthy Wright a prey to speculation as to who the mysterious lady might be for whom the bay mare was to be exercised.
His master, meanwhile, bent his steps almost instinctively to the vicarage.
Vera was undergoing a periodical persecution concerning Mr. Gisburne at the hands of old Mrs. Daintree. She was standing up by the table arranging some scarlet berries and some long trails of ivy which the children had brought to her in a vase. Tommy and Minnie stood by watching her intently; Mrs. Daintree sat at a little distance, her lap full of undarned socks, and rated her.
"It is not as if you were a girl who could earn her living in case of need. There is not one single thing you can do."
"Aunt Vera can make nosegays of berries boofully, grandma," interpolates Tommy, earnestly; "can't she, Minnie?"
"Yes, she do," assented the smaller child, with emphasis.
"I wasn't speaking to you, Tom; little boys should be—"