She was not slow, however, to recall herself to his attention. ‘I vow, Mr Marden, my poor beast is going lame.’
‘Are you sure of that?’ His tone was discouraging. Being within ten miles of his golden destination, he was galled by the idea of delay. ‘He looks to me fresh enough yet.’
‘Poor Hector! Poor boy!’ She cooed at her horse, stroking his neck fondly. He had lapsed into a walk. ‘You’re tired, my handsome. You need a rest, don’t you?’ Obedient to her designs, the horse came to a standstill.
‘But this is nonsense,’ exclaimed Marden, incontinently. ‘We must press on, or we shall not reach Upchurch before nightfall. It’s no great distance truly; we have more than half the journey behind us; but the days are short, and the last mile or two is a lonely ride, and in darkness a hazardous one.’
‘Oh,’ she cried, looking suddenly small and helpless and appealing, ‘I beg that you won’t be angry with us, Mr Marden. Poor Hector is so very sorry. Aren’t you, darling?’ She leaned forward in the saddle and peered into the horse’s face. ‘Come, tell Sally. Can you not trot briskly on till nightfall? What, not even to please your Sally! . . . Ah no,’ cried Sally, turning again to her escort, ‘poor Hector is weary and footsore. He says he cannot go further till he is rested, Mr Marden. Please do not be angry with him. That were too sad an ending to your kindness to us. Indeed, sir, your black looks terrify me: I vow they do.’ In witness of her terror she allowed a dazzling smile to play about her pretty features, which smile, however, pretending to find it of no effect, she quickly dismissed, putting in its place a half-rueful half-playful pout. She found a pocket-handkerchief and began dabbing her eyes with it. ‘Of course, if you are resolved to be cruel . . .’ She finished with a shrug of her small pathetic shoulders.
‘Nay,’ said Marden tolerantly, ‘don’t distress yourself, my dear. I am not after all such an ogre.’ He knew her tricks for what they were, and yet he felt some little compunction about overriding them. Tricks, yes: but these tricks were designed for the man’s amusement, no less than for the woman’s; and up to a point he was prepared to help her play her game. To do otherwise had proved him, he thought, a bad sportsman, a prig, a solemn humourless fellow. Moreover the courtesy with which he had already treated her obliged him to persist in courtesy: trash though she was (his thoughts warningly repeated that epithet), he found satisfaction in what he supposed to be her conception of him, and was unwilling to incur dislike when gratitude and admiration, and more besides, could be had for less than the asking. But he could not resist the temptation to banter. ‘Hector has chosen his moment well, for here is an inn, the last we shall see today. Hector’s weariness is timely, madam.’