to you,’ said the other. ‘Oi saay, Bill, oi vote we go and take the pledge in a gallon apiece at the White Cow, ah?’
‘Roight, Joe, oi’ll pledge yer,’ answered his partner.
And having got twopence from each of the other fares, making a nice little catch in all, the illustrious pair went off together to their beer, as good friends as if not a word had passed between them.
‘What a queer child she is!’ observed the man next him, in an undertone to Mr Lyttelhurst, as the group advanced to a spot suitable for re-mounting.
‘Very!’ was the reply. Then aloud to Lesbia:—‘I am glad, Miss Newman, that at all events you were not annoyed by the bad language of those two roughs.’
‘Annoyed!’ she exclaimed. ‘Bless you, I was delighted. Quite a treat to come across such refined sarcasm—the real Attic salt, you know. The only pity is we hadn’t a short-hand reporter to take it down word for word. But I’m thirsty with laughing. Is there any pub near?’
‘Yes, there’s the White Cow, where Messrs Bill and Joe are gone. But you needn’t follow them into the bar; the landlady will give you tea or beer or what you fancy in her private room.’
The ride home was pleasant; a light breeze at their backs and a smooth though narrow road helped the pace materially. The young men now felt that Lesbia Newman was a companion for them with whom they could be as much at ease as with each other, not a mere blush-and-simper sample of young-lady-stuff, keeping them in continual gêne. In little over an hour they reached Dulham, and as her friends declined to stop at the vicarage again that day, Lesbia entered the drawing-room just as her relatives were finishing afternoon tea.
‘Well, Lesbie, what sort of a ride, how far, and how did you perform?’
