"Is
anything the matter, my dear?" asked Mrs. Connop Green.
Then she made a final effort,--an heroic effort. "What do you
think, mamma?" she said, paying no attention to her cousin's
inquiry.
"What is it, Arabella?"
"Jack got some injury that day at Peltry, and is so lame that they
don't know whether he'll ever put his foot to the ground again"
"Poor fellow," said Mr. Green. "Who is Jack?"
"Jack is a horse, Mr. Green; and such a horse that one cannot but
be sorry for him. Poor Jack! I don't know any Christian whose
lameness would be such a nuisance."
"Does Lord Rufford write about his horses?" asked Mrs. Connop
Green, thus betraying that knowledge as to the letter which she had
obtained from the envelope.
"If you must know all the truth about it," said Arabella, "the
horse is my horse, and not Lord Rufford's. And as he is the only
horse I have got, and as he's the dearest horse in all the world,
you must excuse my being a little sorry about him. Poor Jack!"
After that the breakfast was eaten and everybody in the room
believed the story of the horse's lameness--except Lady Augustus.
When breakfast and the loitering after breakfast were well over, so
that she could escape without exciting any notice, she made her way
up to her bedroom. In a few minutes,--so that again there should be
nothing noticeable,--her mother followed her.
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