George, tapping at
the window of the cab as he spoke and giving the order.

Sarah laughed, as she spread her hands out before her and surveyed them.
'Perhaps it would be as well, for peace' sake,' she remarked.

They were just getting out of the cab at the little back-door leading
into the stable-yard behind the house, when, to their dismay, they saw Mr
Mark Clay's burly figure come with swaggering walk along the little path
through the park towards the same door, probably coming to give some
order, or more probably, his children thought, to make himself
disagreeable to his stablemen and chauffeurs.

'Quick! in with you; there's the pater!' cried George, who, polite as
usual, was holding the cab-door open for his sister.

Sarah needed no second bidding; but, instinctively clutching the front
breadth of her skirt in her hands to conceal the stains, she jumped out,
ran in at the little gate, and into the house, up to her room by the
back-stairs.

George paid the man, who touched his hat and drove off quickly, and the
young man noticed that he passed the owner of the park through which he
was driving without any greeting at all. George turned to meet his
father.

The tall, slim young man, with his refined features, looked a fit heir to
the fine home, with its vast park; but a greater contrast to the coarse
man who came towards him could not be imagined. He raised his hat to his
father, and greeted him pleasantly enough. No one had ever heard George
Clay speak otherwise than respectfully to or of his father, in which he
compared favourably with Sarah; but if he could civilly do so he avoided
his company, and, if the truth be known, he only spent his vacations at
home for the sake of his mother and sister. On this occasion he could not
with politeness avoid meeting him, and did so with a good grace.

'Mornin', lad! Where t' been?' inquired Mark Clay, as he gave his son a
nod.

'Down to Ousebank, father. It's hot, isn't it?'

'Yes, it's fine and hot. Where's Sarah? Why didn't she stop and say
good-mornin' to her dad? I'm not fine enough for her. I'm only good to
make money, eh?'

'On the contrary, it was Sarah who was not fine enough to meet you. She
stained her hands, and was running off to wash them,' said George.

'Stained her hands! What did she stain her hands for? I won't have her
pretty hands soiled; there's no call for her ever to do aught with them
but fancy work.'

'Sarah isn't fond of fancy work,' ob