He saw that the lady’s hair was dark, her cheeks slightly flushed with exorcise; that there was a glint of very white teeth between two scarlet lips; that the figure was really what he had at the first glance imagined—well formed and graceful, if slightly too matured; and his first idea was to take off his hat and stand uncovered in the presence of so much beauty; his second, as he saw the curl of the lady’s upper lip, and her imperious glance, to thrust his hands lower in his pockets and return the haughty stare.
“Here, my man, come and open this gate.”
As she spoke. Scales saw her pass her whip into her bridle hand, draw off a tan-coloured gauntlet glove, and a white and jewelled set of taper fingers go towards the little pocket in her saddle.
“Why, confound her impudence! she takes me for a yokel, and is going to give me a pint of beer,” said the doctor to himself; and he stood as if turned into stone.
“Do you hear!” she cried again sharply, and in the tones of one accustomed to the greatest deference. “Come and open this gate.”
John Scales felt his dignity touched, for he too was accustomed to the greatest deference, such as a doctor generally receives. For a moment he felt disposed to turn upon his heel and walk away; but he did not, for he burst into a hearty laugh, and walked straight up to the speaker, the latter flushing crimson with anger at the insolence, as she mentally called it, of this stranger.
“How dare you!” she exclaimed. “Open that gate;” and she retook her whip with her ungloved hand to point onward, while her highly bred horse pawed the ground, and snorted and tossed its mane, as if indignant too.
“How dare I, my dear?” said the doctor coolly, as he mentally determined not to be set down.
“Sir!” exclaimed the lady with a flash of her dark eyes that made the recipient think afterwards that here was the style of woman who, in the good old times, would have handed him over to her serfs. “Do you know whom you are addressing?”
“Not I,” said the doctor; “unless you are some very beautiful edition in animated nature of the huntress Diana.”
“Sir!”
“And if you were not such a handsome woman, I should leave you to open the gate yourself, or leap the hedge, which seems more in your way.”
“How dare you!” she cried, utterly astounded at the speaker’s words.
“How dare I?” said the doctor, smiling. “Oh, I’d dare anything now, to see those eyes sparkle and those cheeks flush. There,” he continued, unfastening the gate and throwing it back; “the gate’s open. Au revoir.”
The lady seemed petrified. Then, giving her horse a sharp cut, he bounded through on to the furzy heath, and went off over the rough ground like a swallow.
The doctor stood gazing after them, half expecting to see the lady turn her head; but she rode straight on till she passed out of sight, when he refastened the gate.
“She might have given me the twopence for that pint of beer,” he said mockingly. “Why, she has!” he cried, stooping and picking up a sixpence that lay upon the bare earth close to the gate-post. “Well, come, I’ll keep you, my little friend, and give you back. We may meet again some day.”
It was a trifling incident, but it seemed to affect the doctor a good deal, for he walked on amidst the furze and heath, seeing no golden bloom and hearing no bird-song, but giving vent every now and then to some short angry ejaculation. For he was ruffled and annoyed. He hardly knew why, unless it was at having been treated with such contemptuous disdain.
“And by a woman, too,” he cried at last, stopping short, “of all creatures in the world. Confound her impudence! I should just like to prescribe for her, upon my word.”
Volume One—Chapter Nine.
Aunt Sophia on Boats.
The encounter completely spoiled the doctor’s walk, and he turned back sooner than he had intended, meeting Aunt Sophia and Naomi Raleigh in the garden, and accompanying them in to the breakfast-table, where the incident was forgotten in the discussion that ensued respecting returns to town. Of these, Scarlett would hear nothing, for he had made his plans. He said they were to dine at five; and directly after, the boat would be ready, and they would pull up to the lock, and then float down home again by moonlight.
“Well,” said Scales, with a shrug of the shoulders, “you are master here.”
“No, no,” replied his host; “yonder sits the master;” and he pointed to his wife.
“How many will the boat hold safely, dear?” said Lady Scarlett.
“Oh, a dozen, easily. Eighteen, if they would all sit still and not wink their eyes. We shan’t be above seven, so that’s all right.”
“You need not expect me to go,” said Aunt Sophia sharply. “I’m not going to risk my life in a boat.”
“Pooh! auntie; there’s no risk,” cried Scarlett. “You’d better come.”
“No; I shall not!” said the lady very decisively.
“Why, auntie, how absurd!” said Scarlett, passing his arm round her waist. “Now, what is the very worst that could happen?”
“Why, that boat would be sure to upset, James, and then we should all be drowned.”
“Now, my dear old auntie,” cried Scarlett, “the boat is not at all likely to upset; in fact I don’t think we could upset her; and if she were, it does not follow that we should be drowned.”
“Why, we should certainly be, boy,” cried Aunt Sophia.—“Naomi, my dear, of course you have not thought of going?”
“Yes, aunt, dear; I should like to go very much,” said Naomi.
“Bless the child! Why?”
“The river is lovely, aunt, with the shadows of the trees falling upon it, and their branches reflected on its surface.”
“O yes; very poetical and pretty at your age, child,” cried Aunt Sophia. “You never see the mud at the bottom, or think that it is wet and covered with misty fog in winter. Well, I suppose you must go.”
“Really, Miss Raleigh, we will take the greatest care of her,” said Prayle.
“I really should like to take the greatest care of you,” muttered the doctor.
“Well, I suppose you must go, my dear,” said Aunt Sophia.
“Oh, thank you, aunt!” cried the girl gleefully.
“Now, look here, James,” said Aunt Sophia; “you will be very, very careful?”
“Of course, auntie.”
“And
