It was a shock to the busy mistress of Llandiarmid to learn that Félicia could not walk, could not sew or embroider, did not care to sing, play, or draw, and when she read, read nothing but new novels, of which the Castle was conspicuously destitute. Moreover, anything that she was invited to do happened to be one of the very things that hurt her eyes, or made her head ache, or her face flush. In her distress Lady Caerleon took counsel with Maimie, who, though well aware that Félicia would not walk lest it should make her feet large, or work lest it should spoil her hands, did not feel called upon to reveal these reasons.
“What do you do in America, if you never go for walks?” asked the perplexed hostess.
“Why, we go out riding,” answered Maimie carelessly.
“Riding? Why didn’t you tell me before? I never thought Félicia would ride, and it will be an excellent thing for her. There’s Phil’s horse——”
“Oh, I don’t mean that. I meant carriage-rides and sleigh-rides.”
“Oh, driving?” said Lady Caerleon involuntarily. “But she won’t come out with me.”
“I guess it’s just because she’s afraid you’ll have her go and see poor folks. We don’t do that sort of thing in America.”
“If Félicia is to live here after me, I hope she will be known as a friend in every house on the estate,” said Lady Caerleon seriously.
Maimie was silent. The suggestion was too absurd to need argument. Then a happy idea occurred to her. “But Félicia has learnt riding, Lady Caerleon, and if you have a well-mannered horse——”
“My husband trained Philippa’s horse himself,” said Lady Caerleon, and Maimie undertook to suggest the idea to Félicia. Félicia thought it sounded promising, especially since it involved Lord Caerleon’s escort, and she appeared in an exquisitely cut habit, perfect down to the minutest detail.