"Come here, young Morton!"
George advanced, not touching his cap, to remind the big man that there was a difference between him and the other stable men, and that he didn't like that tone.
"You are a very dependable horseman," the great millionaire said. "I can trust you. When Miss Sylvia wants to ride alone you will go with her and see that she has no accidents. During your hours here you will be entirely at her disposal."
Instead of arousing George's anger that command slightly thrilled him.
"So you're Morton," Sylvia said, indifferently. "I shall expect you always to be convenient."
He ventured to look at last, pulling off his cap.
"You can depend on it," he said, a trifle dazed by her beauty.
She went out. Her father and her brother followed, like servitors of a sort themselves. George had no sense of having allowed his position there to be compromised. He only realized that he was going to see that lovely creature every day, would be responsible for her safety, would have a chance to know her.
"A peach!" a groom whispered. "You're lucky, Georgie boy."
George shrugged his shoulders.