she is. He'd have had it
before, only Lord Ormont shuns a scandal. I was telling you, my Olmer
doctor forbade horse-riding, and my husband raised a noise like one of my
turkeycocks on the wing; so I 've given up the saddle, to quiet him. I
guessed. I went yesterday morning to my London physician. He sounded me,
pushed out his mouth and pulled down his nose, recommended avoidance of
excitement. "Is it heart?" I said. He said it was heart. That was the
best thing an old woman could hear. He said, when he saw I wasn't afraid,
it was likely to be quick; no doctors, no nurses and daily bulletins for
inquirers, but just the whites of the eyes, the laying-out, the
undertaker, and the family-vault. That's one reason why I want to see
Steignton before the blow that may fall any day, whether my brother
Rowsley's there or no. But that Olmer doctor of mine, Causitt, Peter
Causitt, shall pay me for being a liar or else an ignoramus when I told
him he was to tell me bluntly the nature of my disease.'

A horseman, in whom they recognized Mr. Morsfield, passed, clattering on
the road behind them.

'Some woman here about,' Lady Charlotte muttered. Weyburn saw him joined
by a cavalier, and the two consulted and pointed whips right and left.

CHAPTER XVII

LADY CHARLOTTE'S TRIUMPH

One of the days of sovereign splendour in England was riding down the
heavens, and drawing the royal mantle of the gold-fringed shadows over
plain and wavy turf, blue water and woods of the country round Steignton.
A white mansion shone to a length of oblong lake that held the sun-ball
suffused in mild yellow.

'There's the place,' Lady Charlotte said to Weyburn, as they had view of
it at a turn of the park. She said to herself--where I was born and bred!
and her sight gloated momentarily on the house and side avenues, a great
plane standing to the right of the house, the sparkle of a little river
running near; all the scenes she knew, all young and lively. She sprang
on her seat for a horse beneath her, and said, 'But this is healthy
excitement,' as in reply to her London physician's remonstrances. 'And
there's my brother Rowsley, talking to one of the keepers,' she cried.
'You see Lord Ormont? I can see a mile. Sight doesn't fail with me. He 's
insisting. 'Ware poachers when Rowsley's on his ground! You smell the air
here? Nobody dies round about Steignton. Their legs wear out and they lie
down to rest them. It 's the finest air in the world. Now