‘I think Mr. Nicholas Frim mustn’t see us riding into Beckley,’ said Evan.

‘Oh, my gracious!  Ought I to get down, sir?’ Polly made no move, however.

‘Is he jealous?’

‘Only when I make him, he is.’

‘That’s very naughty of you.’

’Yes, I know it is—­all the Wheedles are.  Mother says, we never go right till we ‘ve once got in a pickle.’

‘You ought to go right from this hour,’ said Evan.

’It’s ‘dizenzy—­[??  D.W.]—­does it,’ said Polly.  ’And then we’re ashamed to show it.  My poor Susan went to stay with her aunt at Bodley, and then at our cousin’s at Hillford, and then she was off to Lymport to drown her poor self, I do believe, when you met her.  And all because we can’t bear to be seen when we ’re in any of our pickles.  I wish you wouldn’t look at me, Mr. Harrington.’

‘You look very pretty.’

’It ‘s quite impossible I can now,’ said Polly, with a wretched effort to spread open her collar.  ’I can see myself a fright, like my Miss Rose did, making a face in the looking-glass when I was undressing her last night.  But, do you know, I would much rather Nicholas saw us than somebody.!

‘Who’s that?’

‘Miss Bonner.  She’d never forgive me.’

‘Is she so strict?’

‘She only uses servants for spies,’ said Polly.  ’And since my Miss Rose come—­though I’m up a step—­I’m still a servant, and Miss Bonner ’d be in a fury to see my—­though I’m sure we’re quite respectable, Mr. Harrington—­my having hold of you as I’m obliged to, and can’t help myself.  But she’d say I ought to tumble off rather than touch her engaged with a little finger.’

‘Her engaged?’ cried Evan.

‘Ain’t you, sir?’ quoth Polly.  ’I understand you were going to be, from my lady, the Countess.  We all think so at Beckley.  Why, look how Miss Bonner looks at you, and she’s sure to have plenty of money.’

This was Polly’s innocent way of bringing out a word about her own young mistress.

Evan controlled any denial of his pretensions to the hand of Miss Bonner.  He said:  ’Is it your mistress’s habit to make faces in the looking-glass?’

‘I’ll tell you how it happened,’ said Polly.  ’But I’m afraid I’m in your way, sir.  Shall I get off now?’

‘Not by any means,’ said Evan.  ‘Make your arm tighter.’

‘Will that do?’ asked Polly.

Evan looked round and met her appealing face, over which the damp locks of hair straggled.  The maid was fair:  it was fortunate that he was thinking of the mistress.

‘Speak on,’ said Evan, but Polly put the question whether her face did not want washing, and so earnestly that he had to regard it again, and compromised the case by saying that it wanted kissing by Nicholas Frim, which set Polly’s lips in a pout.

’I ‘m sure it wants kissing by nobody,’ she said, adding with a spasm of passion:  ’Oh!  I know the colours of my bonnet are all smeared over it, and I’m a dreadful fright.’