which was looking out of the carriage window. Miss Phaeton flicked Rhino, and the groom behind went plop-plop on the seat.
'He lives in town, you know,' remarked Miss Phaeton.
'They mostly do—and write about the country,' said I.
'Why shouldn't they?' she asked fiercely.
'My dear Miss Phaeton, by all means let them,' said I.
'He's awfully clever, you know,' she continued; 'but he wouldn't always talk. Sometimes he just sat and said nothin', or read a book.'
A sudden intuition discovered Mr. Gay's feelings to me.
'You were talking about the run, or something, I suppose.'
'Yes, or the bag, you know.'
As she spoke she pulled up Ready and Rhino. The little groom jumped down and stood under (not at) their heads. I leant back and surveyed the crowd sitting and walking. Miss Phaeton flicked a fly off Rhino's ear, put her whip in the socket, and leant back also.
'Then I suppose you didn't care much about him?' I asked.
'Oh, I liked him pretty well,' she answered very carelessly.
At this moment, looking along the walk, I saw a man coming towards us. He was a handsome fellow, with just a touch of 'softness' in his face. He was dressed in correct fashion, save that his hair was a trifle longer, his coat
