He was near the hall door, and said something—­half to himself, which we heard (being nearer to him), but my lady did not; although she saw that he spoke.  “What did he say?” she asked in a somewhat hurried manner, as soon as the door was closed—­“I did not hear.”  We looked at each other, and then I spoke: 

“He said, my lady, that ’God help him! he was responsible for all the evil he did not strive to overcome.’”

My lady turned sharp round away from us, and Mary Mason said afterwards she thought her ladyship was much vexed with both of us, for having been present, and with me for having repeated what Mr. Gray had said.  But it was not our fault that we were in the hall, and when my lady asked what Mr. Gray had said, I thought it right to tell her.

In a few minutes she bade us accompany her in her ride in the coach.

Lady Ludlow always sat forwards by herself, and we girls backwards.  Somehow this was a rule, which we never thought of questioning.  It was true that riding backwards made some of us feel very uncomfortable and faint; and to remedy this my lady always drove with both windows open, which occasionally gave her the rheumatism; but we always went on in the old way.  This day she did not pay any great attention to the road by which we were going, and Coachman took his own way.  We were very silent, as my lady did not speak, and looked very serious.  Or else, in general, she made these rides very pleasant (to those who were not qualmish with riding backwards), by talking to us in a very agreeable manner, and telling us of the different things which had happened to her at various places,—­at Paris and Versailles, where she had been in her youth,—­at Windsor and Kew and Weymouth, where she had been with the Queen, when maid-of-honour—­and so on.  But this day she did not talk at all.  All at once she put her head out of the window.

“John Footman,” said she, “where are we?  Surely this is Hareman’s Common.”

“Yes, an’t please my lady,” said John Footman, and waited for further speech or orders.  My lady thought a while, and then said she would have the steps put down and get out.

As soon as she was gone, we looked at each other, and then without a word began to gaze after her.  We saw her pick her dainty way in the little high-heeled shoes she always wore (because they had been in fashion in her youth), among the yellow pools of stagnant water that had gathered in the clayey soil.  John Footman followed, stately, after; afraid too, for all his stateliness, of splashing his pure white stockings.  Suddenly my lady turned round and said something to him, and he returned to the carriage with a half-pleased, half-puzzled air.