He informed her that she must be down at the stables
every morning at eight o'clock to inspect the horses and see them fed
and watered. As a matter of fact the inspection should have been one
of his own duties, but the girl was not likely to cavil at any little
additional work that had not been exactly specified in her contract.
Besides, if she did, he could soon make it uncomfortable for her.
Arithelli made no objection. Though she hated getting up early she
would never have grudged a sacrifice of comfort made on behalf of any
animal. When all the business was completed, Emile took her to the
Cafe Colomb for lunch.
Before they left he knew the details of her history.
The big house in Ireland, with its stud of horses and unlimited
hospitality, and the rapidly vanishing fortune. Her mother, a Viennese
by birth, a cosmopolitan by travel and education, a fine horsewoman,
and extravagance incarnate. Her father, good-natured, careless, manly,
as sportsmanlike and unbusinesslike as most Irishmen. When his horses
died he bought more, keeping always open house for a colony of men as
shiftless and as easy-going as himself.
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