horse he had thought fit for me to ride.
“It’s little more than a pony,” I said scornfully.
“I thought I was to have a horse. I stopped having riding lessons years ago.”
Stirling grinned and said: “You’d better have a look at Tansy.”
So I looked at Tansy—a lovely chestnut mare; and I was determined to ride her if just to show him that I was not one of the minions who accepted his word as law.
“She’s frisky,” said Stirling.
“She’s a mare, not an old nag.”
“Are you sure you can manage her?”
“My father taught me to ride when we lived in the country. I know how to manage a horse.”
“The country’s rough here. Wouldn’t you rather feel your way?”
“I’m not going to ride Blundell. I’d rather not ride at all.” } So they saddled Tansy and we set off. She was frisky and I knew I was going to need all my skill to control her; but, as I said, on that day I was reckless. For the first time since:
my father had died I felt a great uplifting of my spirits. I had not forgotten him; I should never do that; but it was almost as though he were beside me, rejoicing because at last I was delivered into safe hands. But it was not my guardian who gave me comfort; it was
Stirling, riding beside me, so much more at home here than he had been in fie England, who made me feel secure. I knew then that I loved Stirling, and although he did not dominate my thoughts as his father did, my relationship with him brought me a deep contentment which I felt sure I could not feel with any other person. Instinctively I was aware that the affection I had for him would grow stronger every day.
“Does the sun always shine here?” I asked.
“Always.”
“Really always.”
“Almost always.”
“You’re boastful about your country.”
“Put it down to national pride. You’ll feel it after a while.”
“Do you think I shall come to accept this as my home?”
“You will. I’m certain of it.”
“I’m not. Your father didn’t, did he?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why should he have to build a house like that one we saw near Canterbury? Why should Adelaide have to make an English garden for him-He must be homesick … sometimes. Stirling, why didn’t you tell me that this house had the same name as that other? It must have struck you forcefully.”
“It struck me, yes.”
“Then why didn’t you say’f ” You’d never seen this. Then I thought it would be a nice surprise. “
“You think the most absurd things. Anyway, I’m glad. Going to that place seemed significant in some way. I don’t think I shall ever forget it. Those people on the lawn, for instance. Minta! Wasn’t she lovely? And Mamma …”
“Not forgetting the exquisite Mr. Wakefield.”
“You mean you can’t forget him.”
“Come now, you were the one who admired him. Such a perfect gentleman with his bows and hand-kissing.”
“Well, it was charming. And what of poor Lucie, the companion?”
“Poor Lucie! A pity she can’t marry Mr. Wakefield and live graciously ever after.”
“He is obviously for Minta.”
“I believe you envy her.”
“What nonsense!”
“I hope so. If you’re going to settle in here it won’t do to hanker after fancy gentlemen.”
I’m going to be perfectly happy here, thank you, in spite of the obvious lack of well-mannered gentlemen. “
That pleased him. He really was concerned for me.
“What a heavenly morning I’ I cried.
“Careful!” he warned as Tansy caught her foot in a hole and nearly threw me. His hand was stretched out to grasp my reins but we were all right, I assured him.
The grounds of the house were, in my English eyes, very extensive.
There were flower and kitchen gardens where men were working and large orchards where there were orange and lemon trees, with figs to give their fruit in the appropriate seasons. I saw that we could live off the land.
We left the estate behind us and rode for miles over rough country;
Stirling pointed
“It’s little more than a pony,” I said scornfully.
“I thought I was to have a horse. I stopped having riding lessons years ago.”
Stirling grinned and said: “You’d better have a look at Tansy.”
So I looked at Tansy—a lovely chestnut mare; and I was determined to ride her if just to show him that I was not one of the minions who accepted his word as law.
“She’s frisky,” said Stirling.
“She’s a mare, not an old nag.”
“Are you sure you can manage her?”
“My father taught me to ride when we lived in the country. I know how to manage a horse.”
“The country’s rough here. Wouldn’t you rather feel your way?”
“I’m not going to ride Blundell. I’d rather not ride at all.” } So they saddled Tansy and we set off. She was frisky and I knew I was going to need all my skill to control her; but, as I said, on that day I was reckless. For the first time since:
my father had died I felt a great uplifting of my spirits. I had not forgotten him; I should never do that; but it was almost as though he were beside me, rejoicing because at last I was delivered into safe hands. But it was not my guardian who gave me comfort; it was
Stirling, riding beside me, so much more at home here than he had been in fie England, who made me feel secure. I knew then that I loved Stirling, and although he did not dominate my thoughts as his father did, my relationship with him brought me a deep contentment which I felt sure I could not feel with any other person. Instinctively I was aware that the affection I had for him would grow stronger every day.
“Does the sun always shine here?” I asked.
“Always.”
“Really always.”
“Almost always.”
“You’re boastful about your country.”
“Put it down to national pride. You’ll feel it after a while.”
“Do you think I shall come to accept this as my home?”
“You will. I’m certain of it.”
“I’m not. Your father didn’t, did he?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why should he have to build a house like that one we saw near Canterbury? Why should Adelaide have to make an English garden for him-He must be homesick … sometimes. Stirling, why didn’t you tell me that this house had the same name as that other? It must have struck you forcefully.”
“It struck me, yes.”
“Then why didn’t you say’f ” You’d never seen this. Then I thought it would be a nice surprise. “
“You think the most absurd things. Anyway, I’m glad. Going to that place seemed significant in some way. I don’t think I shall ever forget it. Those people on the lawn, for instance. Minta! Wasn’t she lovely? And Mamma …”
“Not forgetting the exquisite Mr. Wakefield.”
“You mean you can’t forget him.”
“Come now, you were the one who admired him. Such a perfect gentleman with his bows and hand-kissing.”
“Well, it was charming. And what of poor Lucie, the companion?”
“Poor Lucie! A pity she can’t marry Mr. Wakefield and live graciously ever after.”
“He is obviously for Minta.”
“I believe you envy her.”
“What nonsense!”
“I hope so. If you’re going to settle in here it won’t do to hanker after fancy gentlemen.”
I’m going to be perfectly happy here, thank you, in spite of the obvious lack of well-mannered gentlemen. “
That pleased him. He really was concerned for me.
“What a heavenly morning I’ I cried.
“Careful!” he warned as Tansy caught her foot in a hole and nearly threw me. His hand was stretched out to grasp my reins but we were all right, I assured him.
The grounds of the house were, in my English eyes, very extensive.
There were flower and kitchen gardens where men were working and large orchards where there were orange and lemon trees, with figs to give their fruit in the appropriate seasons. I saw that we could live off the land.
We left the estate behind us and rode for miles over rough country;
Stirling pointed
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