The Trotter. 139 



them with a courteous grace that was bred in her, and although in 

 her inmost heart she might have despised them, she never gave the 

 slightest outward indication of the fact. But, courteous as her 

 manners were towards them, they all saw at once that she knew 

 and read them thoroughly, and not one of them ever felt at his ease 

 when that black eye flashed upon him. One by one they became 

 less frequent visitors at the Grange, and the old house began to 

 wear a quieter and a more respectable aspect than it had done for 

 years. 



" Can't stand the missus, Sam," was the answer of Tom Wood- 

 croft, the steeple-chase rider who always rode for Sam, and who, 

 although a wild, harum-scarum fellow, was by far the best and 

 least dangerous of all his acquaintances in reply to Sam's question 

 as to why he saw so little of him up at the Grange now. " She's 



always too civil for me 5 and yet I know that she reads us all 



like a book." 



" Sorry for you, Sam ; sorry for you," observed Captain Morris, 

 who was Sam's most intimate friend, and had lived on him, riding 

 his horses, winning or borrowing his money, for the last six years j 

 "but, excuse me, old fellow, you've quite lost your position in 

 society by bringing that woman home." 



This friendly and disinterested little speech was made on the 

 evening of the day in which Sam had introduced the captain to his 

 wife. The captain was a keen hand, and in one hour had read her 

 character, just as truly as she had read his own, and he saw plainly 

 if that woman was allowed to have the upper hand he would soon 

 be obliged to look out for lodgings elsewhere. 



" Tell you what it is, master," growled out Jemmy the tout one 

 day to Sam, on leaving the stable-yard, " if you don't soon get rid 

 of that filly " (jerking his thumb knowingly in the direction of the 

 house) "you'll be losing all your old friends." 



And even Tom G , the prize-fighter, who used occasionally to 



run down to Ashby to blow the London fog off him, as he called 

 it, candidly remarked : " She is a stunner. I've no fault to find 

 with her, in the least ; but my name's Walker. I never yet met the 



