Rickett, who was
feeding her young chicks in the yard outside the forge, was thrown into a
state of wild agitation. Everyone in Little Shale stood in awe of the
squire's wife.
She went nervously to enquire what was wanted, and met the chauffeur
at the gate.
"It's all right, Mrs. Rickett. Don't fluster yourself!" he said. "It's
Miss Moore we're after. Go and tell her, will you?"
Mrs. Rickett looked at the bold-eyed young man with disfavour.
"Well, you're not expecting her to come out to you, are you?" she
retorted tartly.
He smiled. "Yes, I rather think we are, Mrs. Fielding doesn't want to get
out. Where is she?"
Mrs. Rickett drew in her breath. "But Miss Moore is a lady born!" she
objected. "Haven't you got a card I can take her?"
Mrs. Rickett had lived among the gentry in her maiden days, and, as she
was wont to assert, she knew what was what as well as anybody. She had,
moreover, a vigorous dislike for young Jack Green the chauffeur who,
notwithstanding his airs,--perhaps because of them,--occupied a much
lower plane in her estimation than his brother the schoolmaster. But
Jack was one of those people whom it is practically impossible to snub.
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