Stanistreet, who was looking at Mrs. Nevill Tyson at the time, saw the

smile and the color die out of her face; her beauty seemed to suffer a

shade, a momentary eclipse. She began to drink tea (they were at

breakfast) with an air of abstraction too precipitate to be quite

convincing.

"Moll," said Tyson, "if you're going to this meet, you'd better run

upstairs and put your things on."

"I don't want to go to any meets."

"Why not?"

"Because--I--I don't like to see other women riding."

"Bless her little heart!" (Tyson was particularly affectionate this

morning) "she's never had a bridle in her ridiculous hands, and she talks

about 'other women riding.'"

"Because I want to ride, and you won't let me, and I'm jealous."

"Well, if you mayn't ride with me, you may drive with Stanistreet."

"I may drive Captain Stanistreet?"

"Certainly not; Captain Stanistreet may drive you."

"We'll see about that," said Mrs. Nevill Tyson as she left the room.

She soon reappeared, enchantingly pretty again in her laces and furs.

It was a glorious morning, the first thin white frost after a long thaw.

The meet was in front of the Cross-Roads Inn, about a mile out of Drayton

Parva. It was neutral ground, where Farmer Ashby could hold his own with

Sir Peter any day, and speech was unfettered. Somebody remarked that Mrs.

Nevill Tyson looked uncommonly happy in the dog-cart; while Tyson spoke

to nobody and nobody spoke to him. Poor devil! he hadn't at all a pretty

look on that queer bleached face of his. And all the time he kept

twisting his horse's head round in a melancholy sort of way, and backing

into things and out of them, fit to make you swear.

She must have noticed something. They were trotting along, Stanistreet

driving, by a road that ran side by side with the fields scoured by the

hunt, and Tyson could always be seen going recklessly and alone. He could

ride, he could ride! His worst enemy never doubted that.

"It's very odd," said she, "but the people here don't seem to like Nevill

one bit. I suppose they've never seen anything quite like him before."

"I very much doubt if they have."

"I think they're afraid of him. Mother is, I know; she blinks when she

talks to him."

"Does she blink when she talks to me?"

"Of course not--you're different."

"I am not her son-in-law, certainly."

"Do you know, though he's so much older than me--I simply shudder when

I think he's thirty-seven--and so awfully clever, and so bad-tempered,

I'm not in the least afraid of him. And he really has a shocking bad

temper."

"I know it of old."

"So many nice people have bad tempers. I think it's the least horrid

fault you can have; because it comes on you when you're not thinking,

and it isn't your fault at all."




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024