“Oh, come, I don’t know that,” cried Ray; “if it comes to circus tricks that wouldn’t answer for a lady; but there aren’t many better riders than you, Miss Trevor. You don’t make any show, but you sit your mare as if you were cut out of one piece, you and she.”
“That is quite a poetical description,” St. Clair said. “Why am I only a pedestrian, while you two canter by? You cover me with dust, and my heart with ashes and bitterness when you pass me on the road. Why is one man carried along on the top of the wave, in the most desirable company, while another trudges along in the dust all by himself? Your ride opens all the problems of life, Miss Trevor, to the poor wretch you pass on the way.”
Lucy looked at him wistfully. It was the look which Jock had described, and it moved St. Clair greatly, but yet he did not know what meaning was in her eyes. Mrs. Rushton saw it too, and it seemed to her that St. Clair was getting the best of it. She called to him suddenly, and he left his post with great reluctance. He had more to say than they had, he had more experience altogether; and it was not to subject the heiress to the seductions of Mrs. Stone’s nephew that Mrs. Rushton had asked him here.
“Don’t you play?” she said; “they are just looking for some one to make up the game. It would be so kind of you to join them. I know they are rather young for you, Mr. St. Clair, but it would be all the more kind if you were to play.”
“It would be too kind,” he said; he had all his wits about him; “they do not care for grandfathers like myself. Let me look on as becomes my years, or, better still, let me help you. There must be some lady of my own standing who wants to be helped to some tea.”
“You are too quick for me,” she said; “you know that is not what I mean; you must not stay among the dowagers. The girls would never forgive me if I kept all the best men here.”
“Ah, is that so?” he said. “But we are making ourselves very useful. Your son is taking charge of Miss Trevor, who is a very important person, and requires a great deal of attention, and I am handing the cake. Mrs. Walford, you will surely take some; I am charged to point out to you how excellent it is.”
“It is too good for me,” said the old lady whom he addressed, shaking all the flowers on her bonnet. She was the curate’s mother, and she thought it her duty to back her hostess up. “You should not mind us, Mr. St. Clair; the girls will be quite jealous if they see all the young men handing cake.”
“Then I must take it to Miss Trevor,” St. Clair said.
Meanwhile Ray was taking advantage of his opportunity. “Won’t you come for a turn, Miss Trevor? Some fellows are so pushing they never know when they are wanted. Do come if it was just to give him the slip. Why should he be always hanging on here? Why ain’t he doing something? If a fellow is out in the world, he ought to stay out in the world, not come poking about here.”