repel, as Aminta, Countess of Ormont! And the man, the only man,
insensible to her charm or her scorn, was her own wedded lord and
husband. Old, to be sure, and haughty, his pride might not allow him to
overlook poor Mr. Morsfield's unintentional offence. But the presence of
the countess's aunt was a reply to any charge he might seek to establish.
Unhappily, the case is one between men on their touchiest point, when
women are pushed aside, and justice and religion as well. We might be
living in a heathen land, for aught that morality has to say.

Mrs. Pagnell fussed about being seen on her emergence from the Jolly
Cricketers. Aminta sent Weyburn to spy for the possible reappearance of
Mr. Morsfield. He reported a horseman; a butcher-boy clattered by.
Aminta took the landlady's hand, under her aunt's astonished gaze, and
said: 'I shall not forget your house and your attention to us.' She spoke
with a shake of her voice. The landlady curtseyed and smiled, curtseyed
and almost whimpered. The house was a poor one, she begged to say; they
didn't often have such guests, but whoever came to it they did their best
to give good food and drink.

Hearing from Weyburn that the chariot was bound to go through Winchester,
she spoke of a brother, a baker there, the last surviving member of her
family and, after some talk, Weyburn offered to deliver a message of
health and greeting at the baker's shop. There was a waving of hands,
much nodding and curtseying, as the postillion resumed his demi-volts--
all to the stupefaction of Mrs. Pagnell; but she dared not speak, she had
Morsfield on the mouth. Nor could she deny the excellent quality of the
bread and butter, and milk, too, at the sign of the Jolly Cricketers.
She admitted, moreover, that the food and service of the little inn
belonged in their unpretentious honesty to the, kind we call old English:
the dear old simple country English of the brotherly interchange in sight