"What's the reason I can't have the gig?" he began. "Who says I can't have it?"
"I do," said Miss Trevlyn.
Cris insolently turned from her, and walked up to Mrs. Chattaway. "May I not take the gig, mother?"
If there was one thing irritated the sweet temper of Mrs. Chattaway, it was being appealed to against any decision of Diana's. She knew that she possessed no power; was a nonentity in the house; and though she bowed to her dependency, and had no resource but to bow to it, she did not like it brought palpably before her.
"Don't apply to me, Cris. I know nothing about things downstairs; I cannot say one way or the other. The horses and vehicles are specially the things that your father will not have meddled with. Do you remember taking out the dog-cart without leave, and the result?"
Cris looked angry; perhaps the reminiscence was not agreeable. Miss Diana interfered.
"You will not take out the gig, Cris. I have said it."
"Then see if I don't walk! And if I am not home to dinner, Aunt Diana, you can just tell the Squire the thanks are due to you."
"Where do you wish to go?" asked Mrs. Chattaway.
"I am going to Barmester. I want to wish that fellow joy of his indentures," added Cris, a glow of triumph lighting up his face. "He is bound by this time. I wonder the Squire is not back again!"