His Grace — page 133: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HIS GRACE. 127 of the western sky, and, as she approached, I recog- nized Miss St. George, who drew rein and honored me with anod. ‘‘T’m sure I don’t know,” she said, rather crossly, in answer to my first question. “They were still running when I had to leave them, and they looked as if they meant to run until next year. Meanwhile, my mare has dropped lame and I haven’t the most remote idea of where Iam. I suppose you are acquainted with the geography of this hideous country, aren’t you? Per- haps, you wouldn’t mind telling me what point of the compass I ought to make for in order to reach Laven- ham before I die.”’ [I was not in a position to furnish her with the re- quired instructions; but I made inquiries of the people at the public-house, who .were as voluble and incom- prehensible as rustics always are under such circum- stances. It was very evident that I should have to see her home, which was not an altogether enchanting prospect, seeing that it behoved me to find my own way home, and that that task was likely to take me all my time. She neither protested nor apologized when I proclaimed my generous intentions ; she appeared to think that I could do no less. That is what they gen- erally appear to think ; though I am quite at a loss to explain why they should. I concluded from certain observations which escaped her, after we had started, that she considered Hurstbourne wanting in gallantry, inasmuch as he had not taken more care of her, and this tickled me so much that it helped me to overcome my incipient sulkiness. As if Hurstbourne was the sort of man to cut himself out of a run for any woman upon the face of the earth. com (@) boo cS (E(o) im