FIVE

Rounds the corner swept a curricle-and-four at breakneck speed. It was upon them, it must crash into them, there could be no stopping it. Patrick tried to wrench the horses round, cursing under his breath, Elizabeth felt herself powerless to move. She had a nightmarish vision of four magnificent chestnuts thundering down on her, and of a straight figure in a caped overcoat driving them. It was over in a flash. The chestnuts were swung miraculously to the off; the curricle's mudguard caught only the wheels of the gig, and the chestnuts came to a plunging standstill. 

The shock of the impact, though it was hardly more than a glancing scrape, startled the farmer's horse into an attempt to bolt, and in another moment one wheel of the gig was in the shallow ditch, and Miss Tellaro was nearly thrown from her seat. 

She righted herself, aware that her bonnet was crooked, and her temper in shreds, and found that the gentleman in the curricle was sitting perfectly unmoved, easily holding his horses. As she turned to look at him he spoke, not to her, but over his shoulder to a diminutive tiger perched behind him. "Take it away, Harry, take it away", he said. 

Wrath, reproach, even oaths Miss Tellaro could have pardoned. The provocation was great, she herself longed to box Patrick's ears. But this calm indifference was beyond everything. Her anger veered irrationally toward the stranger. His manner, his whole bearing, filling her with repugnance. From the first moment of setting eyes on him she knew that she disliked him. Now she had leisure to observe him more closely, and found that she disliked him no less. 

He was the epitome of a man of fashion. His beaver hat was set over black locks carefully brushed into a semblance of disorder, his cravat of starched muslin supported his chin in a series of beautiful folds, his driving coat of drab cloth bore no less than fifteen capes, and a double row of silver buttons. Miss Tellaro had to see him as a very handsome creature, but found no difficulty in detesting the whole cast of his countenance. He had a look of self centeredness, his eyes, ironically surveying her from under weary lids, were the hardest she had ever seen, and betrayed no emotion but boredom. His nose was too straight for her taste. His mouth was very well formed, firm but thin lipped. She thought it sneered. 

Worse than all was his languor. He was uninterested, both in having dexterously averted an accident, and in the gig's plight. His driving had been magnificent, there must be unsuspected strength in those elegantly gloved hands holding the reins in such seeming carelessness, but in the name of God why must he put on an air of dandified affectation? 

At the tiger jumped nimbly down on to the road Miss Tellaro's annoyance found expression in abrupt speech. "We don't need your assistance! Be pleased to drive on, sir!" 

The cold eyes swept over her. Their expression made her aware of the shabbiness of the gig, of her own country-made dress, of the appearance she and Patrick must present. "I should be very pleased to drive on, my good girl", said the gentleman in the curricle, "but that apparently unmanageable steed of yours is - you may have noticed - making my progress impossible". 

Miss Tellaro was not used to such a form of address, and it did not improve her temper. The farmer's horse, in its frightened attempts to drag the gig out of the ditch, was certainly plunging rather wildly across the narrow road, but if only Patrick would go to its head instead of jobbing at it, all would be well. The tiger, a sharp faced scrap of uncertain age, dressed in a smart blue and yellow livery, was preparing to take the guidance of matters into his own hands. Miss Tellaro, unable to bear the indignity of it, "Sir, I have already informed you that we don't need your help! Get down, Parte! Give the reins to me!" she said fiercely. 

"I have not the slightest intention of offering you my help", said the exquisite gentleman, rather haughtily raising his brows. "You will find that Harry is quite able to clear the road for me". 

And, indeed, by this time the tiger had grasped the horse's reins above the bit, and was engaged in soothing the poor creature. This was very soon done, and in another minute the gig was clear of the ditch, and drawn up at the very edge of the road. 

"You see, it was quite easy", said that maddening voice. 

Patrick, who had till now been too much occupied in trying to control his horse to take part in the discussion, angrily said "I'm aware the fault was mine, sir! Well aware of it!" 

"We are all well aware of it", replied the stranger amicably. "Only a fool would have attempted to turn his carriage at this precise point. Do you mean to keep me waiting very much longer, Harry?" 

"I've said I admit the fault", said Patrick, coloring hotly, "and I'm sorry for it! But I shall take leave to tell you, sir, that you were driving at a shocking pace!" 

He was interrupted somewhat unexpectedly by the tiger, who lifted a face grown suddenly fierce, and said in shrill Cockney accents, "you shut your bone box, impudence! He's the very best whip in the country, ah, and I ain't forgetting Sir James Ladey neither! There ain't none to beat him, and Them's blood chestnuts we've got in hand, and if them wheelers ain't sprained a tendon apiece it ain't nowise your fault!"

The gentleman in the curricle laughed. "Very true, Harry, but you will have observed that I am still waiting". 

"Well, lord love yer, guv'nor, ain't I coming?" protested the tiger, scrambling back on to his perch. 

Patrick, recovering from his astonishment at the tiger's outburst, said through his teeth "We shall meet again, sir, I promise you!" 

"Do you think so?" said the gentleman in the curricle. "I hope you may be found to be wrong". 

The team seemed to leap forward, and in another minute the curricle was gone. 

"Insufferable!" Elizabeth said passionately. "Insufferable!"