Looking like a wild gal, Mr Jabez Fullerton said, as he stood at his shop door. I declare its immoral, thats what it is; a parsons daughter gadding about like a jockey, Smithson; its disgusting.
Yes, said Mr Smithson, who was calculating how many yards, at how much a yard, were in Cynthias well-fitting riding-habit.
Theres a horse look at it for a young gal to ride! Well, all I can say is that I hope his lordship means to marry her. I never saw such goings on.
That there habit do fit well though, I must say that, said Smithson.
Fit? said Fullerton. Hah! The rectorys a disgrace!
But it so happened that riding was not always the order of the day. Long brisk walks were taken at times, much to the bemiring of Mr Perry-Mortons patent leather shoes; and upon one of these occasions it had been arranged that Julia and Cynthia were to make a call or two upon some of the poor cottagers, who had been rather neglected during the past two weeks. Lord Artingale was going to ride over, and he and Mr Perry-Morton were to bring forward the ladies to meet them, if the Misses Perry-Morton could walk so far.
Why, Julie, its quite a treat to be alone once more, said Cynthia, merrily, as they walked briskly along the sandy lanes, calling at first one cottage and then another.
Treat! said her sister, smiling, I thought
Hush! I wont be teased. But, Julie dear, I wont be a hypocrite to you. I do tease him and laugh at him, but he is nice, and I think Im beginning to like him ever so.
I like him very, very much, said Julia, naïvely. Hes a very pleasant, manly fellow.
Yes, isnt he, dear? But, Julie, its too bad, I know, of me to leave you so long with that dreadful bore. What does he say to you?
Say! said Julia, with a smile; really I hardly know. Talks about art and natures colour, and asks me if I do not find a want of thoroughness in our daily life.
Thoroughness! why thats what his sisters are always talking about. I think it thorough nonsense. Oh, I shall be so glad when theyre gone.
Yes, it will be nicer, said Julia, thoughtfully; but papa seems to like them very much.
Yes, isnt it extraordinary? cried Cynthia. He wants papa to take a house in town, and to furnish it upon plans designed by him. I heard them talking about it, and papa seems to be guided by him in everything. And what do you think?
I dont know, dear.
Im as good as certain that that wicked Cyril has been borrowing money of Perry-Morton.
Why do you think that? said Julia, quickly.
Because Cyril does not make fun of him a bit, but both he and Frank are wonderfully civil.
Julia sighed.
Hadnt we better turn back now, dear?
Oh, no! lets go as far as old Mrs Meadowss, poor old lady; shell think we are never coming again.
They walked a few hundred yards farther on, and sat for a quarter of an hour to learn how the poor old ladys jyntes was uncommon painful just now, thanky, and that she hadnt seen them since before Christmas, and that it had been the mildest Christmas she had knowed this sixty year; and then the old lady sent her visitors on their return walk, with the cheerful announcement that a green Christmas allers made a full churchyard, my dears, which well she knowed it to be true.
Oh, what a dreadful old woman, Julie, cried Cynthia, merrily.
Poor old thing! but how well she is for eighty.
No troubles but her jyntes to harass her, laughed Cynthia.
How long will it be before we meet anybody?
A much shorter time than they either of them anticipated, for as they turned a bend in the road, two rough-looking men who had been leaning against a gate came towards them, making no movement to let them pass, but staring offensively.
Dont be frightened, Julie, whispered
Master Cyril Mallow, hes a well-built, strapping young fellow, who can talk well, and shoot well, but if he had happened to be my sod, instead of old Mallows, Id have licked him into a different shape to what hes in now, ay, and his brother too, or Id have known the reason why. Dinner in, my lass? Thats well. Come along, Luke. Tchah! nonsense! you shall stay. You can tell the old man your reasons better when youve got a bit of roast beef under your waistcoat, and some of my ale. Why, Sage, lass, what ails you? Your face is as white as a bit o dough.
Oh, nothing, uncle, nothing, she replied, forcing a smile, as she hurried to a tall press to get out a napkin for their visitor, and soon after they were seated at the hospitable meal, which was more bounteous on a market-day, the nearness of the farm to the town making it always probable that the Churchwarden might bring up a friend.
But Luke Ross was the only stranger on that occasion, and he sat opposite Sage, whose countenance, though less troubled than when she had overheard her uncles words, was lacking in its ordinary composure.
Luke saw this, and attributed it to their conversation, and the interest she took in his affairs. Her aunt saw it, too, and, with the idea of comforting her niece, kept turning the conversation to the Rector and his family, but not to do any good, for out of mere contrariety, and with a twinkle in his eye as he glanced at Luke, the Churchwarden set to and roundly abused the Rector and his sons for their ways.