Some ten miles away there is a spot whence one can see seven counties, not to speak of the sea, a mountain or two, and some other trifles; and thither Mr. Parker is kindly going to bowl us down on his coach.
A drive on a coach is always to me a most doubtful joy; the ascent, labor; the drive itself, long anxiety and peril; the descent, agony, and sometimes shame. However, that is neither here nor there. I am going. It is still half an hour till the time appointed for our departure, and I am sitting alone in my room when Roger enters.
"Nancy," he says, coming quickly toward me, "have you any idea what sort of a whip that boy is?"
"Not the slightest!" reply I, shortly.
I feel as hard as a flint to-day. Algy's words last night seem to have confirmed and given a solider reality to my worst fears. He has walked to the window and is looking out.
"Are you nervous?" say I, with a slightly sarcastic smile.
He does not appear to notice the sarcasm.
"Yes," he says, "that is just what I am. He is a mad sort of fellow, and a coach is not a thing to play tricks with!"
"No," say I, indifferently. It seems to me of infinitely little consequence whether we are upset or not.
"That is what I came to speak to you about!" he says, still looking out of the window.