From her window, Maude Falconer, now attired in a simple but
exquisitely effective morning frock, could see him. After watching him
for a minute or two, she went to her writing-table and wrote two or
three notes quickly, and, with these in her pocket, went down-stairs
and through the hall to the stable court-yard. Pottinger was still
finishing off Adonis, and he drew himself up and saluted as she entered
the stables. As a rule her manner to the servants and her inferiors was
cold and haughty, but, as Stafford had discovered last night, she could
be soft and gentle when she chose, and she smiled now at Pottinger and
the horse in a fashion that almost dazzled that ingenuous youth. At the
same time her eye had noted Pottinger's coat and waistcoat which hung
on a hook at the stall-post with the saddle-wallet slung over them. The
coat was an old one with gaping pockets, and there was no sign of a
letter in them, or in the waistcoat. Instinctively, she knew that it
was in the wallet.
"What splendid condition that horse is in, Pottinger," she said. "His
coat is like satin. I suppose you were in the army?"
Of course Pottinger was flattered, and answered in the negative very
reluctantly.
"Not but what Mr. Stafford, miss, isn't as particular as any army gent
could be. I should be sorry to turn out a badly groomed 'oss for Mr.
Stafford's eyes to rest on, miss. He's as kind-hearted a master as a
man could desire to have, but that's about the one thing Mr. Stafford
wouldn't stand, miss."
"I suppose not," she said. "Are you going to ride into Bryndermere this
morning, Pottinger? If so, I should be glad if you would take these
notes to the linen draper's and the chemist's, and bring me back the
things I have written for."
"Certainly, miss," said Pottinger; then he remembered Stafford's order,
and looked anything but certain. "Would it do late in the morning,
miss? I have to go somewhere first."
"Oh, yes," she replied, "where shall I put the letters--in this wallet?"
Pottinger answered in the affirmative and thanked her, and she
unfastened the wallet, talking to him as she did so. "Is that a
swelling on that near fore leg, Pottinger?" she said, suddenly,
pointing to Adonis.
Pottinger started and regarded her with a look of horror, and, of
course, instantly knelt down to examine the suspected member. Long
before he had come up again with a breath of relief and a smiling "No,
miss, there is nothing the matter with it," she had looked into the
wallet and seen Stafford's letter.