Mark absolutely did order the gig; whereupon Mrs. Smith remarked that in such case she need not hurry herself; but the waiter brought up word that all the horses of the hotel were out, excepting one pair, neither of which could go in single harness. Indeed, half of their stable establishment was already secured by Mr. Sowerby's own party.
"Then let me have the pair," said Mark, almost frantic with delay.
"Nonsense, Robarts, we are ready now. He won't want them, James. Come, Supplehouse, have you done?"
"Then I am to hurry myself, am I?" said Mrs. Harold Smith. "What changeable creatures you men are! May I be allowed half a cup more tea, Mr. Robarts?"
Mark, who was now really angry, turned away to the window. There was no charity in these people, he said to himself. They knew the nature of his distress, and yet they only laughed at him. He did not, perhaps, reflect that he had assisted in the joke against Harold Smith on the previous evening.
"James," said he, turning to the waiter, "let me have that pair of horses immediately, if you please."
"Yes, sir—round in fifteen minutes, sir; only Ned, sir, the post-boy, sir, I fear he's at breakfast, sir; but we'll have him here in less than no time, sir!"
But before Ned and the pair were there, Mrs. Smith had absolutely got her bonnet on, and at ten they started. Mark did share the phaeton with Harold Smith, but the phaeton did not go any faster than the other carriages. They led the way, indeed, but that was all; and when the vicar's watch told him that it was eleven, they were still a mile from Chaldicotes' gate, although the horses were in a lather of steam; and they had only just entered the village when the church bells ceased to be heard.
"Come, you are in time, after all," said Harold Smith. "Better time than I was last night." Robarts could not explain to him that the entry of a clergyman into church—of a clergyman who is going to assist in the service, should not be made at the last minute—that it should be staid and decorous, and not done in scrambling haste, with running feet and scant breath.
"I suppose we'll stop here, sir," said the postillion, as he pulled up his horses short at the church door, in the midst of the people who were congregated together ready
