‘my lady,’ but Dana is too shrewd.”
“Almost a pity that the girls have no brother,” said Alison carelessly.
“Why, sir?” said his father sharply.
“Because then he could have married little Isabel, and completed the combination,” said Alison, looking meaningly at his sister.
“Don’t be an ass, boy. Hallo! Who’s this?” cried Mr Elthorne, turning sharply in his chair as a bell rang.
“Only Beck, father. I asked him to come with us.” Mr Elthorne turned upon his son mute with anger and annoyance; hence he did not notice the bright look and increase of colour in his daughter’s face. “You asked him to come over – this morning?”
“Yes, father. Poor beggar, he only has a few more days before he sails for China, and I thought it would be neighbourly. Old Beck is always very nice to me.”
“Oh, very well,” said Mr Elthorne abruptly; and Isabel uttered a low sigh of relief as she busied herself over her aunt’s cup, suddenly displaying great anxiety that the placid looking lady should have some more coffee.
“Better ask him in to breakfast, Al,” said Mr Elthorne.
“Yes; I was going to,” said Alison, rising and leaving the room, to return in a few minutes with a frank, manly looking young fellow of seven or eight and twenty, whose face was of a rich, warm brown up to the centre of his forehead, and there became white up to his curly chestnut hair, which was a little darker than his crisp, closely cut beard.
“Ah, Beck, come over for a ride with us?” said Mr Elthorne. “How is the vicar?”
“Quite well, sir.”
“And Mrs Beck?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Alison was good enough to ask me to join your party.”
He shook hands with the ladies, and there was rather a conscious look between Isabel and the visitor as their hands joined – one which did not escape the head of the family.
“Sit down, Beck, sit down,” he said, cordially enough, all the same.
“Oh, I have breakfasted, sir.”
“Yes; we’re late,” said Mr Elthorne, with a look at Aunt Anne.
“That means it is my fault, Mr Beck,” said the lady; “but never mind, my dear, sit down and have some more. Sailors always have good appetites.”
“Oh, well, just a drop of coffee,” said the young man, for Isabel had quickly filled a cup, and was holding it out to him. “Thanks, Miss Elthorne; but really I did not mean – ”
“You are on the vicar’s cob?” said Mr Elthorne quickly, as he noted his daughter’s heightened colour, and the young man’s hesitation and evident pleasure.
“Try some of this game pie, Beck,” cried Alison, pushing over a plate. “Aunt Anne finished the kidneys.”
“Ally, my dear.”
“Oh, thanks,” said the visitor, taking the plate as he settled himself at the table. “Cob, sir? Oh, no; a friend sent me over one of his horses. I have had it these three days.”
A curious look of trouble crossed Isabel’s countenance, and she sat watching the speaker as he went on: “That’s the worst of being ashore. Everyone is so kind. I am always spoiled, and it takes me a month to get over it when I get back to my ship.”
“And when do you go?” said Mr Elthorne.
“This day fortnight, sir.”
“For six months, isn’t it?”
“There is no certainty, sir, I’m sorry to say. We may be ordered on to Japan afterward.”
“Isabel, my dear, I am sure Mr Beck will excuse you.”
“Eh? Oh, yes, certainly,” said the visitor with his lips, but with a denial of the words in his eyes.
“Go and put on your riding habit, my dear. Aunt Anne will pour out the coffee.”
“Yes, papa,” said the girl; and she rose, and, after exchanging glances with their visitor, left the room.
“Oh, yes, I’ll pour out the coffee,” said Aunt Anne, changing her seat. “You are very fond of riding, Mr Beck, are you not?”
“Well, ye-es,” said the young man, laughing, and with an apologetic look at his host and friend; “I like it very much, but I always seem such a poor horseman among all these hard riders, and feel as if I ought to congratulate myself when I get back safe.”
“Oh, well,” said Mr Elthorne condescendingly, “you would have the laugh at us if you got us to sea. Did you see anything of Sir Cheltnam?”
“No; I came by the lower road.”
“Here he is – they are, I ought to say,” cried Alison, jumping up and going to the window.
“Eh?” ejaculated Mr Elthorne, rising too, and joining his son at the window to watch a party of three coming across the park at a hard gallop – the party consisting of two ladies and a gentleman, with one of the ladies leading, well back in her saddle, evidently quite at her ease.
“Humph,” muttered Mr Elthorne; and then in a low voice to his son: “Of course. If you had had any brains you would have ridden out to meet them, and not left them to another escort.”
“Oh, I shall be with them all day, sir, and – Ah Saxa, you foolish girl,” he cried excitedly, of course with his words perfectly inaudible to the member of the group whom he was addressing. “The horse will rush that fence as sure as I’m here. Oh, hang all wire and hurdles!”
“What’s the matter?” cried Beck, starting from the table as Alison opened the French window and stepped out. “My word, how those two girls can ride.”
“Like Amazons, sir,” said Mr Elthorne proudly, as he watched the party, now coming over the closely cropped turf at quite a racing pace; and his voice was full of the excitement he felt. “Will she see it, Al, my boy? Yes, she rises – cleared it like a swallow. Bravo! With such a lead the others are safe to – ”
“Well done! Well over!” cried Alison, from outside, as he began clapping his hands.
“Capital! Bravo!” cried Mr Elthorne, following his son’s example, as he now stepped outside to meet the party who were rapidly coming up after skimming over the hurdle which formed part of the ring fence of the estate.
“All safe over, Mrs Barnett,” said the vicar’s son, returning to the table.
“Then they don’t deserve to be, Mr Beck,” said the lady. “I do not approve of girls being so horribly masculine. If our Isabel were like that, I should feel as if I had not done my duty to her since her poor mother died.”
“But she is not like that,” said the visitor, after a quick glance at the open window.
“No, my dear, not a bit. I hate to see young ladies such tomboys. But there – poor girls! – no mother – no father.”
“And
