Then, while putting on her gloves and talking cheerfully, she glanced at Enid's collection of photographs in the silver frames.
"Who is that lady, Enid?"
"Oh, that's Mamie Bulford."
Several of the frames contained pictures of this important personage, who appeared to be a hard-visaged but rather handsome woman of thirty or thirty-five. She was enormously rich, Enid said, and madly keen about hunting; and she and her husband lived at a beautiful place called Widmore Towers, two miles the other side of Linkfield village. This year Charlie was acting as her pilot in the hunting field; and four horses were kept at the Towers solely for the pilot's use.
"Charlie," said Enid, "is such a magnificent pilot—for anyone who means going. And Mamie will be there, or thereabouts, don't you know, all the time."
"Does not Mr. Bulford go out hunting?"
"Major Bulford! Yes, but he's crocked—stiff leg—so he hunts on wheels—follows in a dog-cart. That's rather fun, you know. You see a lot of sport that way."
"Yes, dear, I remember you said you were going to do that, yourself."
And Mrs. Marsden asked about the pony-cart that was to have been procured for Enid.
But the pony-cart had become impossible—and Enid vaguely hinted at hard times, difficulty of finding spare cash for expenses that were not urgently necessary, and so on. Besides, it was a perambulator and not a pony carriage that Mr. Kenion must now buy.