Mrs. Die, in her hat and habit, was not so crazy looking, and was more like a lady of birth and breeding, than she had been in her morning gown. She directed the horses—there was usually no lack of horses at St. Bevis’s—to be brought to the door, and ascertained that Lady Bell was fit to guide the pony allotted to her, while Mrs. Kitty was mounted double behind a groom.
“Sneyd may come with us if he likes, and is not frightened for his master; or Greenwood may attend,” Mrs. Die said condescendingly.
“It is a mighty queer expedition, just like Mrs. Die,” murmured the last—the chaplain, who had come out under the colonnade to see the party start; “but I’ll ride after you to see that justice is done, and for the sake of the young lady,” he whispered to Mrs. Kitty.
“If you don’t come for the sake of the old one, I think you had better let it alone, sir,” Mrs. Kitty rebuffed him shortly.
It was a ride of an hour and a half for the party, with half-a-dozen dogs at their heels, to reach the country town where the quarter sessions were held. Mrs. Die gave no sign of knowing anybody, either among the country people in great coats trudging to market, or the smarter townspeople lounging by the low-browed shops and tall brick houses, though countrymen and tradesmen, with their womenkind, saluted and turned to stare at the group.
Mrs. Die rode straight with her friends to the court-room door, and having alighted, walked in, and up to the table round which the gentlemen in drab, purple, and green coats, and muddy boots and tops, were sitting with their papers before them.
A case of horse-stealing had just been disposed of, and a miserable man was being led out, marching along by the turnkeys, while his friends, in the shape of sullen men and weeping women, were pressing round him.
Mrs. Die tapped on the table with her riding-whip.
“I have come to demand your protection, gentlemen,” she said, with a raised voice, “from a man, one William Cholmondely, who persecutes me with his addresses.”
One gentleman, in a coat of a precise cut, with a plain cravat and a severe cast of face above it, winced and reddened.