“Ah, going to be a dairymaid, is she?” said Sir Gareth cheerfully. An idea that had peeped into his mind now began to take hopeful possession of it. He looked at Mr. Ninfield consideringly, and said, after a moment: “Is she a troublesome charge? Do you think Mrs. Ninfield would be prepared to keep her as a boarder for a few days?”

“Keep her, sir?” repeated Mr. Ninfield, staring at him.

“The case, you see, is this,” said Sir Gareth. “Either I must take her back to school, or I must make some other arrangements for her. Well, I have been most earnestly requested not to take her back to the school, which puts me in something of a fix, for I can’t hire a governess for her at a moment’s notice. I must convey her to my sister’s house in town, and, frankly, I am very sure she won’t want to go with me there. Nor, I must add, am I anxious to saddle my sister with such a charge. It occurs to me that if she is happy in your wife’s care it would perhaps be as well to leave her there until I am able to provide for her suitably. I daresay, if she did not know that I was aware of her direction, she would be glad to stay with you, and would no doubt enjoy herself very much, milking cows, and collecting eggs, and in general fancying herself to be very useful.”

“I’ll be bound she would, the pretty dear!” said Mrs. Sheet approvingly. “A very good notion, I call it, and just what will put dancing-masters and such out of her head.”

But Mr. Ninfield dashed Sir Gareth’s hopes. “Well, sir,” he said apologetically, “I’m sure I’d be pleased to have her, and it goes against the shins with me to act disobliging, but it’s Joe, you see. She’s got him so as he don’t know whether he’s on his head or his heels. He don’t take his eyes off her, and when he told his ma that Miss was like a princess out of one of them fairy stories, Mrs. Ninfield she said to me, private, that we must find out quick where she comes from before Joe gets ideas into his head which is above his station. Because it wouldn’t do, sir.”

“No, it wouldn’t do,” agreed Sir Gareth, relinquishing his scheme with a pang. “If that is how the land lies, of course I must take her away immediately. Where is your farm?”

“It’s a matter of three miles from here, sir, but it ain’t a very good road. You go up the post-road, about half a mile, and there’s a lane turns off to your left. You follow that past Keyston, until you see a rough track, left again. You go down that for a mile and a half, maybe a bit more, like as if you was heading for Catworth, and just afore you come to a sharp bend you’ll see Whitethorn. You can’t miss it.”

“Good gracious, Ned, where have your wits gone begging?” interrupted Mrs. Sheet impatiently. “Just you get back into your gig, and lead the gentleman!”

“Thank you, I wish you will!” Sir Gareth said. “In the direction of Catworth, is it? Tell me, can I, without too much difficulty, reach Kimbolton from Whitethorn?”

“Yes, sir, easy, you can. All you’ve to do is to go on down the lane till you come to the post-road—the one as runs south of this one, between Wellingborough and Cambridge. Then you swing left-handed into it, and Kimbolton’s about five miles on.”

“Excellent! I’ll rack up there for the night, and carry the child off to London by post-chaise tomorrow—if she doesn’t contrive to give me the slip from the posting-house there! But before we set out you must join me in a glass. Ma’am, what may I have the pleasure of desiring your husband to serve you with?”

“Well, I’m sure, sir!” said Mrs. Sheet, slightly overcome. “Well, I don’t hardly like to!”

However, succumbing to persuasion, she consented to drink a small glass of port. The landlord then drew three pots of his own home-brewed; and Sir Gareth, basely plotting Amanda’s undoing, said thoughtfully: “Now, I wonder what trick that abominable child will play on me next? She’ll put up a spirited fight, that’s certain! The last time she was in mischief she told a complete stranger that I was abducting her. I only wish I may not be in her black books for months for having disclosed that she’s still a schoolgirl. Nothing enrages her more!”

Mrs. Sheet said wisely that girls of her age were always wishing to be thought quite grown-up; and Mr. Ninfield, hugely tickled by the thought of Sir Gareth’s figuring as an abductor, confessed that he and his good lady had suspected from the start that Miss was cutting a sham.

“Ah, well, of course she didn’t ought to tell such faradiddles,” said Mrs. Sheet, “but it’s only play-acting, like children do, when they start in to be Dick Turpin, or Robin Hood.”

“Exactly so,” nodded Sir Gareth. “But it is really time she grew out of it. Unfortunately, she is still at the stage when she pines for adventure. As far as I can discover, she thinks it a dead bore to be a schoolgirl, and so is for ever pretending that she is someone else. I could wish that some of her stories were less outrageous.”

Everyone agreed that it was very embarrassing for him, and the symposium presently ended on a note of great cordiality. Sir Gareth had acquired three firm friends and supporters who were as one in thinking him the finest gentleman of their acquaintance, not high in the instep, but, as Mr. Sheet later expressed it, a real-top-of-the-trees, slap up to the echo.

Trotton, upon hearing that the end of the hunt was in sight, was extremely thankful. It had appeared to him that his besotted master was prepared to continue driving throughout the night, and he, for one, had had enough of it. Moreover, he had been even more reluctant than Sir Gareth to leave the bays in a strange stable, having taken a dislike to the head ostler, an unfortunate circumstance which led to his becoming more and more convinced that those peerless horses would be subjected to the worst of bad treatment. He now learned that it would be his task to drive them back to London by easy stages, and grew instantly more cheerful.

“You will have to come with me to Kimbolton,” Sir Gareth said, drawing on his gloves. “I shall be escorting the young lady to my sister’s house tomorrow, and shall hire a chaise for the purpose. You may then drive the curricle back to Thrapston, settle my account there for the hire of these tits, and bring the bays up to London after me. I shan’t look for you to arrive for at least two days, so take care you don’t press ‘em!”

“No, sir,” said Trotton, in a carefully expressionless voice. “I wouldn’t be wishful to do so—not in this hot weather!”

“Because,” said Sir Gareth, as though he had not heard, but with the glimmer of an appreciative smile in his eyes, “I have already worked ‘em far harder than I ought.”

“Just so, sir!” said his henchman, grinning at him.

It did not take long to accomplish the journey to Whitethorn Farm. Leaving Trotton with the curricle, Sir Gareth was ushered by Mr. Ninfield into the rambling old house. Dusk was beginning by this time to shadow the landscape, and in the large, flagged kitchen the lamp had been kindled. Its mellow light fell on Amanda, on the floor, and playing with a litter of kittens. Seated in a window chair, with his hands clasped between his knees, was a stalwart youth, watching her with a rapt and slightly idiotic expression on his sunburnt countenance; and keeping a wary eye on both, while she vigorously ironed one of her husband’s shirts, was a matron of formidable aspect.

Amanda glanced up casually, as the door opened, but when she saw who had entered the kitchen she stiffened, and exclaimed: “You! No! No!”

Young Mr. Ninfield, although not quick-witted, took only a very few seconds to realise that here in the person of this bang-up nonesuch, was Amanda’s persecutor. He got up, clenching his fists, and glaring at Sir Gareth.

He was perfectly ready, and even anxious, to do battle, but Sir Gareth took the wind out of his sails, by first nodding at Amanda, and saying amiably: “Good-evening, Amanda!” and then coming towards him, with his hand held out. “You must be Joe Ninfield,” he said. “I have to thank you for taking such excellent care of my ward. You are a very good fellow!”

“It’s the young lady’s guardian, Jane,” Mr. Ninfield informed his wife, in a penetrating aside.

“It is not!”Amanda declared passionately. “He is trying to abduct me!”

Joe, who had numbly allowed Sir Gareth to grasp his hand, turned his bemused gaze upon her, seeking guidance. “Throw him out!” ordered Amanda, a sandy kitten clasped to her breast in a very touching way.

“You’ll do no such thing, Joe!” said his mother sharply. “Now, sir! P’raps you’ll be so good as to explain what this means!”

“All’s right, Jane,” Mr. Ninfield said, chuckling. “It’s like you thought, only that it was school Miss ran off from.”

“I didn’t!” cried Amanda, her face scarlet with rage. “And he’s not my guardian! I don’t even know him! He is an abominable person!”

“Of course I am!” said Sir Gareth soothingly. “Though how you know that, when you are not even acquainted with me, I can’t imagine!” He smiled at Mrs. Ninfield, and said in his charming way: “I do hope, ma’am, that she has not been troublesome to you? I can’t thank you enough for your kindness to her!”

Under Amanda’s baffled and infuriated gaze, Mrs. Ninfield dropped a curtsy, stammering: “No, no! Oh, no, indeed sir!

Sir Gareth glanced down at Amanda. “Come, my child, get up from the floor!” he said, in a voice of kindly authority. “Where is your hat? I never abduct ladies without their hats, so put it on, and your cloak too!”

Amanda obeyed the first of these commands, largely because she found herself at a disadvantage when sitting at his feet. She could see that the tone he had chosen to adopt had had its inevitable effect, even upon her moonstruck admirer, but she made a desperate bid for freedom. Staring up into his amused eyes, she said: “Very well! If you are my guardian, who am I?”