"Put your arm round my neck if you like, but all the village knows that you are my brother, my only near relation. Clarice has a cousin at 'The Beetle,' which is our newsagency."
"Clarice," repeated Ronnie, "is that the shuffling parlour-maid with the cock eye?"
"She is a capital servant," I replied, "and sees as much as three. Here come the Soadys."
"Who are they?--tell me quickly," urged Ronnie.
"Sam Soady and his daughter. She is the only girl I know in these parts, and has been my great stand-by. He is a rich farmer, sells cattle and horses, and lives in an old manor house the other side of Beke."
Almost before I concluded, the Soadys were upon us, a fine, solid, up-sitting pair, with the same open countenances, ruddy cheeks and blue eyes. As they halted, Tossie cried out:
"Hallo, Eva, fancy seeing you roosting beside the road!"
"Yes, my brother says I have walked him off his legs. Let me introduce him to you. Mr. Lingard, Miss Soady, and Mr. Soady."
The latter touched his cap and said in his loud, hoarse voice:
"No, I have not come across anything to touch your two gees; fine weight-carriers," walking over to his side as he spoke--horses always attracted Ronnie.
"Aye, they are good 'uns," assented the farmer, "and rarely bred. My girl and I have been giving them a bit of a gallop in the fields yonder now the crops are in, getting them fit for the cub-hunting. I will be pleased to do a deal, sir," he added jocosely.
"Thanks, awfully, but I ride ten stone, and I'm off to India on Friday. I should have thought you would only have had otter hunting in this part of the country."
"Round here there is naught but water rats, but on our side of Beke there is rare fine going, and two good packs within reach."
During this conversation Tossie was considering Ronnie with an air of fascinated attention; her eyes resembled two blue glass balls, and her gaze expressed undisguised approval. Ronnie and I were the same height--that is to say, five-foot-eight. He was slight, well set up, and remarkably good looking. From his earliest childhood he had been excessively particular about his personal appearance, had never objected to having his hair brushed and his hands washed, and, as he stood on the road before Miss Soady, he presented a picture of a thoroughly well turned out and admirably groomed young man. Tweed suit, boots and shirt, were precisely what they should be; his glossy hair was delicately scented; socks, tie and handkerchief were all in sympathy; and yet there was nothing remarkable in his get-up--it was subdued, simple, and absolutely "the right thing." What a contrast to my own countrified appearance in a home-made serge skirt, a baggy blouse, sunburnt sailor hat, and bare hands--we rarely wore gloves at Beke.
