The noise
prevented his hearing a sash-window lifted, immediately above the porch.
"Right away!"
The inn-servant who had accompanied the Westcotes turned back to trim a
candle flaring in the draughty passage. But it so happened that, in
starting, the coachman entangled his off-rein in the trace-buckle.
Endymion, in his polished hessians, ran round to unhitch it.
On the window-sill above, two deft hands quickly scooped up and moulded
a snowball.
"He should turn up his coat-collar, the pig! _V'Ian pour le
Commissaire!_"
Endymion Westcote did not hear the voice; but as the vehicle rolled
heavily forward, out of the darkness a snowball struck him accurately
on the nape of the neck.
CHAPTER IV
ENCOUNTER BETWEEN A HIGH HORSE AND A HOBBY
"Your chocolate will be getting cold, Miss."
Dorothea, refreshed with sleep but still pleasantly tired, lay in bed
watching Polly as she relaid and lit the fire in the massive Georgian
grate. These occasions found the service in the Town House short-
handed, and the girl (a cheerful body, with no airs) turned to and
took her share in the extra work.
"Have they sent for Mudge?" (Mudge was the Bayfield butler.)
"Lord, no, Miss! Small chance of getting to Mudge, or of Mudge getting
to us. Why, the snow is half-way up the front door!"
Bed was deliciously warm, and the air in the room nipping, as Dorothea
found when she stretched out her hand for the cup.
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