“Someone on horseback,” said Penzance.

He had scarcely spoken before round the curve of the road she came.  A finely slender and spiritedly erect girl’s figure, upon a satin-skinned bright chestnut with a thoroughbred gait, a smart groom riding behind her.  She came towards them, was abreast them, looked at Mount Dunstan, a smiling dimple near her lip as she returned his quick salute.

“Miss Vanderpoel,” he said low to the vicar, “Lady Anstruther’s sister.”

Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure.

“Really,” he exclaimed, “Miss Vanderpoel!  What a fine girl!  How unusually handsome!”

Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition.

“Miss Vanderpoel,” he burst forth, “Reuben Vanderpoel’s daughter!  The one that’s over here visiting her sister.  Is it that one—­sure?”

“Yes,” from Mount Dunstan without fervour.  “Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here.”

“Gee,” with feverish regret.  “If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made.”

“Should you,” ventured Penzance politely, “endeavour to sell him a typewriter?”

“A typewriter!  Holy smoke!  I’d try to sell him ten thousand.  A fellow like that syndicates the world.  If I could get next to him——­” and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh.

“Get next,” murmured Penzance.

“Get on the good side of him,” Mount Dunstan murmured in reply.

“So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again,” called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM

The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables.  There were several of them—­a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred—­the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham.  The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years.  The men learned in a week’s time that their work could not be done too well.  There were new carriages as well as horses.  They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town.  The horses had been brought down by their grooms—­immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses.  They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures.  When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation.  Whosoever had chosen them had known his business.  The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit.  Fox had also done his work well.