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It doesn't matter how late it is, nothing matters ... trust in you. Love makes everything good. Only you love me, oh, truly?" "Truly," he reassured her. "Don't be long; and, remember, shut Mrs. Caley's door." She left him abruptly, and, standing alone in the dark, he cursed himself for a fool for letting her go a boy's trick. But then the whole affair did not desperately engage him.
That her mistress should care so much about him added yet an acrid touch to Caley's spite; but she put on her bonnet and went to the mews, to confer with the wife of his lordship's groom, who, although an honest woman, had not yet come within her dislike.
He went around the corner of the house with her last words ringing in his ears, kicking angrily at the rough sod. His house, between Mrs. Caley's glum silence and Lettice's ceaseless complaining, was becoming uninhabitable. And, as Rutherford Berry had pointed out, the latter would only increase, sharpen, with the years.
Got somebody to bet on Silver Star at 25 to 1 and took quite a little chunk of money out of the ring. That was Caley's last race; he'd been cheating the undertakers for years. Before he died he gave the horse to Old Man Curry. They'd been friends, but if a friend of mine gave me a horse like that and didn't throw in a dog collar, he couldn't run fast enough to get away from me.
And indeed he was rather a dangerous person to have about, where all but himself had secrets more or less bad, and one at least had dangerous ones as Caley's conscience, or what poor monkey rudiment in her did duty for one, in private asserted. Notwithstanding her hold upon her mistress, she would not have felt it quite safe to let her know all her secrets.
Silver Star was 25 and 30 to 1 all over the ring and a friend of Caley's unloaded the two hundred in little driblets so's nobody would get suspicious and cut the price too far. The Cricket got out of a sick bed to ride the race and Silver Star came from behind and won by seven lengths. Could have made it seventeen easy as not.
The other rested from the laborious sawing of a log, blinking and tremulous in the hard brilliancy of midday. "Beyond," he answered vaguely, waving up the valley; "Sim Caley's wife sent for him from Hollidew's farm.
Caley's indisposition. Her face, now turned toward the fields, was dipped in the dreaming radiance; now it was blurred, vaguely appealing, disturbing. Her soft youth was creamy, distilling an essence, a fragrance, like a flower; it was one with the immaculate flood of light bathing the world in virginal beauty.
That her mistress had the slightest intention of ever mounting that mare she did not find herself fool enough to believe, but of other reasons she could spy plenty behind. And such there truly were, though none of the sort which Caley's imagination, swift to evil, now supplied.
I've had a hinstinc' of it, my lady; from the first moment I set eyes on him;" Caley's speech was never classic; when she was excited it was low. " And when I 'ave a hinstinc' of anythink, he's not a dog as barks for nothink. Mark my words and I'm sure I beg your pardon, my lady but that man will bring shame on the house.
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