It was with some such conversation as this that the two old gossips (John was never in the house at that hour, and Honor was getting ready for her ride) were beguiling the time on that warm July afternoon. The window of the “parlour” was wide open (it was not the _best_ apartment; _that_ was kept sacred to visitors of a more aristocratic stamp than the widow Thwaytes), and from it there was a view of the ancient paved court, or stable-yard, where the Morello cherry trees grew against the north wall, where Honor fed her pigeons in the morning, and where stood the lichen-covered old horse-block which Honor, in default of Arthur Vavasour’s assistance, was fain to climb, in order (it was rather an ignoble proceeding) to mount as best she could that graceful, high-born animal, the Lady Meg. “A little nearer, please, Jem, I can’t quite reach the stirrup;” and Honor, standing on the top of the block, which had, in the days of John’s father and grandfather, done good service in its line, with her long habit just raised enough to show her dainty foot, and with her fair girlish face slightly flushed, both with amusement and vexation, tried by coaxings and caresses to draw the mare within her reach. “She’s frightened, that’s what it is, Jem,” she said. “So! Meg!” and again she stroked the mare’s arched neck with the tips of her gauntleted fingers. Near enough, however, to be mounted Lady Meg would by no means consent to be led, and Jem scratched his head at last in perplexity. “It’s a pity the young Squire beant here,” he said; whereupon Honor flushed crimson, and Mrs. Thwaytes, who overheard the words, laughed significantly. “Lead her on once more, and then try again,” Honor said, feeling desperate with those two pairs of aged eyes fixed curiously upon her. Jem did as he was ordered, and the experiment proving successful, Honor mounted her steed, and with an unconcern that was less real than affected, rode slowly away. “Humph! I’m glad that Milady has had to help herself at last,” Mrs. Beacham remarked. “No fine gentleman from the Castle to put his hand, with the beautifullest of gloves on, under her foot to-day! What was good enough for John’s grandfather she’ll have to find good enough for her. I’ve no patience, _I_ haven’t, with such stuck-up ways.”