“Thank you, I’d love to,” said Leslie, sitting down with obvious relief. But as if unwilling to let anyone notice her fatigue, she quickly continued: “It’s lovely to have proper fires here, and as there is unlimited timber we can be warm to the last, at least as long as Jasper is alive.”
Lydia asked who Jasper was.
“He’s the old keeper,” said Leslie. “He is nearly as old as Uncle Harry. And anyway there’s enough dead wood to burn for years. If you like we’ll take the pony-cart and collect some to-morrow. It saves Jasper and he has a lot to do.”
She stopped suddenly and lay back in her chair.
“I’d love to,” said Lydia, who was arranging bottles, brushes, combs and such small fry neatly on the dressing-table, “what sort of pony is it?” and she pushed the less reputable toilet accessories
