The Little Lady of the Horse
Mr. Calthorp bowed gravely and respectfully; and, loosing Steenie’s hand, bade her make herself ready for the table as soon as possible. She held up her face for a kiss, then sped away, thinking she had never seen her father look so serious, and wondering why. “Was he afraid of a lord, too? And was the cor’net under the man’s hat?”
Customs were simple at Santa Felisa for, till now, the household had been practically that of the manager alone, and, in default of an older person, Daniel Calthorp had liked to have his little daughter preside at table. So it seemed strange to none but Lord Plunkett himself when, a little later than usual, she entered the dining-room and took her usual place. Feeling she must honor such a wonderful occasion, she had taken uncommon pains with her toilet; and, fortunately, the guest was too indifferent to such matters to be shocked by the rather striking combination of a red sash, a blue throat-knot against the white frock, and a mass of reddish-brown curls bound into a stiff little knot by a band of green velvet.
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