"Yes! For all you care, she might be. I'm going, but you needn't be afraid that I shan't come back. I shall be back to-day week; Ipromise."
He looked at her fixedly.
"Yes. You don't break your promises; you will not break it." But, suddenly, he said again: "Gyp, don't go!""I must."
He got up and caught her in his arms.
"Say you love me, then!"
But she could not. It was one thing to put up with embraces, quite another to pretend that. When at last he was gone, she sat smoothing her hair, staring before her with hard eyes, thinking:
"Here--where I saw him with that girl! What animals men are!"Late that afternoon, she reached Mildenham. Winton met her at the station. And on the drive up, they passed the cottage where Daphne Wing was staying. It stood in front of a small coppice, a creepered, plain-fronted, little brick house, with a garden still full of sunflowers, tenanted by the old jockey, Pettance, his widowed daughter, and her three small children. "That talkative old scoundrel," as Winton always called him, was still employed in the Mildenham stables, and his daughter was laundress to the establishment. Gyp had secured for Daphne Wing the same free, independent, economic agent who had watched over her own event; the same old doctor, too, was to be the presiding deity. There were no signs of life about the cottage, and she would not stop, too eager to be at home again, to see the old rooms, and smell the old savour of the house, to get to her old mare, and feel its nose nuzzling her for sugar. It was so good to be back once more, feeling strong and well and able to ride. The smile of the inscrutable Markey at the front door was a joy to her, even the darkness of the hall, where a gleam of last sunlight fell across the skin of Winton's first tiger, on which she had so often sunk down dead tired after hunting. Ah, it was nice to be at home!
In her mare's box, old Pettance was putting a last touch to cleanliness. His shaven, skin-tight, wicked old face, smiled deeply. He said in honeyed tones:
"Good evenin', miss; beautiful evenin', ma'am!" And his little burning brown eyes, just touched by age, regarded her lovingly.
"Well, Pettance, how are you? And how's Annie, and how are the children? And how's this old darling?""Wonderful, miss; artful as a kitten. Carry you like a bird to-morrow, if you're goin' out."
"How are her legs?"
And while Gyp passed her hand down those iron legs, the old mare examined her down the back of her neck.
"They 'aven't filled not once since she come in--she was out all July and August; but I've kept 'er well at it since, in 'opes you might be comin'.""They feel splendid." And, still bending down, Gyp asked: "And how is your lodger--the young lady I sent you?""Well, ma'am, she's very young, and these very young ladies they get a bit excited, you know, at such times; I should say she've never been--" With obvious difficulty he checked the words, "to an 'orse before!" "Well, you must expect it. And her mother, she's a dreadful funny one, miss. She does needle me! Oh, she puts my back up properly! No class, of course--that's where it is. But this 'ere nurse--well, you know, miss, she won't 'ave no nonsense;so there we are. And, of course, you're bound to 'ave 'ighsteria, a bit--losin' her 'usband as young as that."Gyp could feel his wicked old smile even before she raised herself.
But what did it matter if he did guess? She knew he would keep a stable secret.
"Oh, we've 'ad some pretty flirts--up and cryin', dear me! Isleeps in the next room--oh, yes, at night-time--when you're a widder at that age, you can't expect nothin' else. I remember when I was ridin' in Ireland for Captain O'Neill, there was a young woman--"Gyp thought: 'I mustn't let him get off--or I shall be late for dinner,' and she said:
"Oh, Pettance, who bought the young brown horse?""Mr. Bryn Summer'ay, ma'am, over at Widrington, for an 'unter, and 'ack in town, miss.""Summerhay? Ah!" With a touch of the whip to her memory, Gyp recalled the young man with the clear eyes and teasing smile, on the chestnut mare, the bold young man who reminded her of somebody, and she added:
"That'll be a good home for him, I should think.""Oh, yes, miss; good 'ome--nice gentleman, too. He come over here to see it, and asked after you. I told 'im you was a married lady now, miss. 'Ah,' he said; 'she rode beautiful!' And he remembered the 'orse well. The major, he wasn't 'ere just then, so I let him try the young un; he popped 'im over a fence or two, and when he come back he says, 'Well, I'm goin' to have 'im.' Speaks very pleasant, an' don't waste no time--'orse was away before the end of the week. Carry 'im well; 'e's a strong rider, too, and a good plucked one, but bad 'ands, I should say.""Yes, Pettance; I must go in now. Will you tell Annie I shall be round to-morrow, to see her?""Very good, miss. 'Ounds meets at Filly Cross, seven-thirty.
You'll be goin' out?"
"Rather. Good-night."
Flying back across the yard, Gyp thought: "'She rode beautiful!'
How jolly! I'm glad he's got my horse."
XXI
Still glowing from her morning in the saddle, Gyp started out next day at noon on her visit to the "old scoundrel's" cottage. It was one of those lingering mellow mornings of late September, when the air, just warmed through, lifts off the stubbles, and the hedgerows are not yet dried of dew. The short cut led across two fields, a narrow strip of village common, where linen was drying on gorse bushes coming into bloom, and one field beyond; she met no one.
