was to become of them through the winter Mr. Peevor was sure he could not tell, if these mistakes were made before the frost began. But there was worse news behind. One of the gardener's children, it was reported, had a bad sore throat; the doctor had been sent for; and until he should pronounce whether or not it was scarlet fever, the family were enjoined on no account to visit the gardens. "You cannot be too careful," said Mr. Peevor, "about taking precautions against infection;" and perceiving some grapes on the table, he hastily ordered them to be removed. They had been picked by the gardener himself; and Mr. Peevor went on to relate a story he had heard, how the children of one of the noblest families in the land, whose country house was fully a mile from any other building, and drained regardless of expense, had caught a fever from eating grapes which had been gathered by a gardener whose children were ill of the complaint. "Truly we live in the midst of dangers," said Mr. Peevor in conclusion, and this pious sentiment was the nearest approach to family prayers manifest in the household. "Now be sure, Maria," he continued, turning to his eldest daughter, "that you give up your walk on the terrace for this morning; the drive in front of the house is quite dry and pleasant;" — and then he went on to explain to the guest that his eldest daughter used to be a district visitor in the parish, but that after the younger children were born he was obliged to ask her to give it up; there was always something or other going on in the cottages down in the village; and it really was not right to run the risk of bringing infection into the house. "Of course," he added, "I made it a point of increasing my subscriptions to the local charities, so no one can say 1 don't do my duty by the parish; but we must not neglect our duty to our own household."
Meanwhile, breakfast being ended, although but a small reduction had been made in the solid dishes and delicacies which covered the broad table, it was pronounced to be time to set out for the meet; and the ladies being all ready for starting, Miss Catherine attired in well-fitting riding-habit, which showed off her neat little figure to much advantage, with hair carefully braided up under a jaunty little hat, while the others had sat down in their walking-dresses, it only remained to put on gloves and wraps and to make a start. Yorke was invited to take a place beside Miss Lucy in the pony-carriage, while, Miss Cathy accompanied Mrs. Peevor and the two children in the close carriage. Miss Maria was to take her walk in front of the house; Mr. Peevor also did not accompany them. He would wait to see the doctor and hear his report. Driving in cold weather did not agree with him; and, besides, he should not be able to look at his luncheon if he did not take a good walk first. So after helping them to mount he took leave of them on the door-steps, giving his wife a parting injunction to keep the rugs well over the children, and to be sure to pull up the carriage windows as they passed by that bad drain in the village. Then, just as Lucy had told the groom to let go the ponies' heads, he called to her to stop, while he ran into the house to fetch a cigar-case for Yorke, which he insisted on his taking with him, lighting a fusee as he said so, although the latter protested that he had a case of his own; and when Yorke looked doubtfully at the young lady, her father said that Lucy would like the smell of his cigar above everything. The young lady smiled, as much as to say, "You see how amiable I am," and raised her whip, the groom jumped up behind; and the quick-trotting ponies soon shot ahead of the heavy landau.
Yorke sat silent for a minute or two, puffing his cigar, admiring the neatness with which his fair driver handled the reins; while the latter, having something to occupy her attention, seemed for the first time to be at ease in his company. Come now, he thought, there is one thing at any rate she can do well; and indeed the accomplishment, as he learnt afterwards from her father incidentally, was due to some driving-lesson's received from Mr. Skid, the celebrated professional whip who drove the Brighton coach.
The country they drove through was thickly sprinkled with neat-looking country houses, in well-kept grounds. Yorke asked who lived in one of these — the next, in fact, to "The Beeches." "Those are the Chattertons," said Miss Lucy; "very nice people, I believe," she continued in answer to another query, "but we don't know them;" — and when Yorke artlessly put the same question again, as they drove by another handsome estate, "The Rashleighs live there," she said, "but we don't know them either;" and any doubts which Yorke might have had whether Mr. Peevor was disposed to exclusiveness on the score of his riches, were disposed of by the saucy little look of mingled vexation and fun the young lady gave to her companion,
