She swished her whip.  Mr. Gilbert Addicote received the stroke and retired, a buried subject.  They walked on at an even pace.  ’You ’ll see Leo to-morrow.  He worships you.  You may as well give him a couple of hours’ coaching a day for the week.  He’ll be hanging about you, and you won’t escape him.  Well, and my brother Rowsley:  how is Lord Ormont?  He never comes to me now, since—­Well, it ’s nothing to me; but I like to see my brother.  She can’t make any change here.  Olmer and Lady Charlotte ’s bosom were both implied.  ’What do you think?—­you ’ve noticed:  is he in good health?  It ’s the last thing he ’ll be got to speak of.’

Weyburn gave the proper assurances.

‘Not he!’ said she.  ’He’s never ill.  Men beat women in the long race, if they haven’t overdone it when young.  My doctor wants me to renounce the saddle.  He says it ’s time.  Not if I ‘ve got work for horseback!’ she nicked her head emphatically:  ’I hate old age.  They sha’nt dismount me till a blow comes.  Hate it!  But I should despise myself if I showed signs, like a worm under heel.  Let Nature do her worst; she can’t conquer us as long as we keep up heart.  You won’t have to think of that for a good time yet.  Now tell me why Lord Ormont didn’t publish the “Plan for the Defence” you said he was writing; and he was, I know.  He wrote it and he finished it; you made the fair copy.  Well, and he read it,—­there! see!’ She took the invisible sheets in her hands and tore them.  ’That’s my brother.  He’s so proud.  It would have looked like asking the country, that injured him, to forgive him.  I wish it had been printed.  But whatever he does I admire.  That—­she might have advised, if she ’d been a woman of public spirit or cared for his reputation.  He never comes near me.  Did she read your copy?’

The question was meant for an answer.

Weyburn replied:  ‘Lady Ormont had no sight of it.’

’Ah! she’s Lady Ormont to the servants, I know.  She has an aunt living in the house.  If my brother’s a sinner, and there’s punishment for him, he has it from that aunt.  Pag . . . something.  He bears with her.  He ’s a Spartan.  She ’s his pack on his back, for what she covers and the game he plays.  It looks just tolerably decent with her in the house.  She goes gabbling a story about our Embassy at Madrid.  To preserve propriety, as they call it.  Her niece doesn’t stoop to any of those tricks, I ‘m told.  I like her for that.’

Weyburn was roused:  ’I think you would like Lady Ormont, if you knew her, my lady.’

’The chances of my liking the young woman are not in the dice-box.  You call her Lady Ormont:  you are not one of the servants.  Don’t call her Lady Ormont to me.’

‘It is her title, Lady Charlotte.’  She let fly a broadside at him.