‘You’re a regular Currency lass, Tottie,’ laughed Mr. Banks; ‘always thinking about horses. Don’t you tell Miss Neuchamp that she’s very sweet about the head and has out-and-out legs: she mightn’t understand it. Here we are—jump down. I’ll put the mare in the paddock.’
Miss Neuchamp, having had time to finish luncheon, had walked out into the verandah with her cousin, when she was attracted by the trampling of horses, and looked forth in time to see her proposed handmaid sail up to the door at a pace which would have excited observation in Rotten Row.
Mr. Banks awaited her dismounting, knowing full well that she required no assistance. The active maiden swung herself sideways on the saddle and dropped to the ground as lightly as the ‘hounding beauty of Bessarabia,’ or any ordinary circus sawdust-treading celebrity. Lifting her habit, she advanced to the verandah with a curious mixture of shyness and self-possession. She successfully accomplished the traditional courtesy to Miss Neuchamp, and then shook hands cordially with Ernest, as she had been in the habit of doing. Miss Augusta put up her eyeglass at this, and regarded the ‘young person’ with a fixed and critical gaze.
‘I’m very much obliged to your mother for letting you come, Tottie, and I am very glad to see you at Rainbar,’ said Mr. Neuchamp. ‘If you go into the dining-room, you will find the lunch on the table; I daresay you will have an appetite after your ride. You can clear it away by and by, and Miss Neuchamp will tell you anything she wishes you to do. You will live in the cottage, and you must help old Johnny as well as you can, without quarrelling with him—you know his temper—or letting him bully you.’
Tottie was about to say, ‘I’m not afraid of the old tinker,’ but, remembering Mr. Banks’s advice, replied meekly, ‘Yes, sir; thank you, Mr. Neuchamp,’ and retired to her lunch and duties.
‘I suppose that is a sample of your peasantry,’ said Miss Neuchamp, with cold preciseness of tone. ‘Do you generally shake hands with your housemaids in the colonies? I suppose it must be looked for in a democracy.’
‘Well, Tottie Freeman isn’t exactly a peasant,’ explained Ernest mildly. ‘We haven’t any of the breed here. She is a farmer’s daughter, and her proud sire has or had an acreage that would make him a great man at fair and market in England. You will find her a good-tempered, honest girl, not afraid of work, as we say here, and as she is your only possible attendant, you must make the best of her.’