As soon as we
reached the house the first object that we saw in front of it was
Sir Percival's dog-cart, with the horse put to and the groom
waiting by it in his stable-jacket. If these unexpected
appearances were to be trusted, the examination of the house-
keeper had produced important results already.
"A fine horse, my friend," said the Count, addressing the groom
with the most engaging familiarity of manner, "You are going to
drive out?"
"I am not going, sir," replied the man, looking at his stable-
jacket, and evidently wondering whether the foreign gentleman took
it for his livery. "My master drives himself."
"Aha!" said the Count, "does he indeed? I wonder he gives himself
the trouble when he has got you to drive for him. Is he going to
fatigue that nice, shining, pretty horse by taking him very far
to-day?"
"I don't know, sir," answered the man. "The horse is a mare, if
you please, sir. She's the highest-couraged thing we've got in
the stables. Her name's Brown Molly, sir, and she'll go till she
drops. Sir Percival usually takes Isaac of York for the short
distances."
"And your shining courageous Brown Molly for the long?"
"Logical inference, Miss Halcombe," continued the Count, wheeling
round briskly, and addressing me.
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