Leslie's Loyalty. Garvice Charles
right!" Yorke cries to the astonished Leslie: "he is coming. Run in and put your things on, and don't give him time to think."
"But," falters Leslie, a smile beginning to break on the lovely face.
"But nothing!" he cuts in. "Please be quick, or he'll have time to change his mind."
Leslie runs in, laughing, and Yorke, stowing the easel under the seat, shouts out for Grey.
"Tell the – Mr. Temple we're ready," he says quickly. "Got that hamper?"
"Yes, your grace," says Grey.
"Confound – all right then. Get your master down as soon as possible; and Grey, bring me out a glass of ale. Heigh-ho, that was a narrow squeak," and he draws a long breath. "What, let him deprive her of her outing? Not if I had to take the house as well!"
Presently the duke and Grey come out, and Grey helps him into his seat. They have not long to wait for the other two, and Yorke looks approvingly at the slim, graceful figure, which plainly dressed though it may be, is unmistakably that of a lady.
Mr. Lisle, scarcely knowing what they are doing with him, is bundled in; and Yorke, as a matter of course, stands by to assist Leslie to the seat on the box beside him.
"But would not some one else like to sit there?" she says, hesitatingly.
"I am sure Mr. Lisle would be more comfortable inside," he says. "And we mustn't keep the horses waiting longer than we can help, please," he says, and he puts his hand under her elbow and hoists her up carefully.
Then he springs into his place, touches the horses with the whip, and away they go.
Leslie draws a long breath. It is not until they have got to the open country that she can believe that they have actually started.
"It was a near thing," he says, as if he were reading her thoughts.
"Yes," and she smiles; "I don't know how you managed it."
He laughs light-heartedly.
"It was done by force of arms. I meant you – I mean Mr. Lisle – to go, and when I mean a thing I'm hard to obstruct."
"This is rather a grand turn-out, Yorke," remarks the duke. "May one ask where and how you got it? It doesn't look like a hired affair."
"It isn't," he replies. "When I got to Northcliffe I ran against little Vinson, who appears to be staying there. The wagon was standing outside and he asked me if I would like to go for a drive. I said I should if he'd let me have the horses and not ask to go with me. He stared for a minute, then he took off his gloves, and – here you are, you know."
"Wasn't that rather cool?" asks the duke.
Yorke laughs.
"Oh, he's a good-natured little chap, and didn't seem to mind. Said he'd go for a sail instead."
"He must be very good-natured," said Leslie, smiling in spite of herself.
"So he ought to be. He's as rich as Crœsus, and hasn't a care in the world. His father, Lord Eastford, you know, bought up a lot of nursery gardens just outside what was then London, and they've turned out a gold mine. The part got fashionable, you know."
The mention of a lord reminds Leslie – she had forgotten it until now – that the young man beside her is a duke, and she wonders whether she ought to have addressed him as "your grace."
"Now, Miss Lisle," he says, "you've got to play the part of guide, you know. Is it straight on, or how?"
"Straight on, your grace," she says, thinking she will try how it sounds. It doesn't sound very well in her own ears, nor, apparently, in his, for he stops in the act of flicking a fly off the horse's harness and looks at her; but he does not make any remark.
The roads are good, the day heavenly, and as they bowl along Leslie leans back, wrapped in a supreme content. Her father's voice discoursing of "art" floats now and again toward her, the thud, thud of the horses' hoofs makes pleasant music; and if she should tire of the pretty scenery, there is the handsome face of a good-tempered young man beside her to look at for a change.
Leslie does not know very much about driving; but she knows that he is driving well, that the horses, fresh and high-mettled as they are, are thoroughly under his control; and, half-unconsciously, she finds herself admiring the way in which he handles the whip and the reins.
"May one ask what you are thinking of, Miss Leslie?" he says, glancing at her, after a long silence.
"I was wondering which I liked best – sailing or driving," she replies.
"But you haven't driven yet," he says. "Would you like to drive?"
Leslie shakes her head.
"I should drive them into a ditch, or they would run away with me," she says, smiling.
"Not a bit of it," he retorts; "and I know you are not afraid, because you said last night that you never were afraid."
"Did I say that?" she says. "What wonderful things one says in the moonlight!"
"See here," he says. "I'll show you how to hold the reins."
"If I am not afraid, they will be, if they think you are going to transfer these wild animals to my guidance," and she glances over her shoulder.
"Oh, they're all right," he says, carelessly. "Give me your hand. No, the left one. That's it."
He takes it and opens the slim fingers, and inserts the reins in their proper places; and as he does so notices, if he did not notice last night, how beautifully shaped and refined the small hand is.
"That's right. Now take the whip in your right hand, and – how do you feel?"
"As if I were chained to two romping lions, and they were dragging me off the box."
He laughs, the frank, free laugh which Leslie thinks the pleasantest she ever heard.
"You'll make a splendid whip!" he says, encouragingly. "Hold 'em tight, and don't be afraid of them. Directly you begin to think they are getting too many for you, set your teeth hard, hold 'em like a vise, and give 'em each a flick. So! See? They know you're master then."
The ivory white of Leslie's face is delicately tinted with rose, her eyes are shining brightly, her heart beating to the old tune, "Happiness."
"There is a cart coming, and there isn't room. Oh, dear!" and she begins to get flurried.
"Plenty of room," he says, coolly. "You should shout to the man! But I'll do that for you," and he wakes the sleeping wagoner with a shout that causes the man to spring up and drag his horses aside as if Juggernaut were coming down upon him. "See? That's the way! Oh, you'll do splendidly, and I shall be quite proud of you. I'm fond of driving. Do you know, I've often thought if the worst came to the worst that I'd take to a hansom cab."
Leslie stares at him.
"A duke driving a hansom cab would be rather a novelty, wouldn't it?" she says, with a smile.
To her surprise, his face flushes, and he turns his head away. What has she said? At this moment, fortunately for Yorke's embarrassment, the duke remarks with intentional distinctness:
"Are you insured against accidents, Miss Lisle?"
Leslie holds out the reins.
"You see," she says, "they are getting frightened; and not without cause."
But he will not take the reins from her.
"I know you are enjoying it," he says, just as a schoolboy would speak. "You're all right; I'll help you if you come to a fix. Give that off one a cut, he is letting the other do all the work."
"Which is the off one?" she asks, innocently.
He points to it.
"That's the one. So called because you don't let him off."
It is a feeble joke, but Leslie rewards it with a laugh far and away beyond its merits, and he laughs in harmony.
"You seem to be enjoying yourselves up there," says the duke. "Pray hand any joke down."
"It