But Drewitt kept coming grimly on. The blue pinstripe of the city gent made him look small and purposeful, like a bluebottle. Jodhpurs and tweeds had done something for him, after all.

“That pony,” he gasped, catching hold of the door and yanking it open. “That pony you sent me, Padre...”

“Yes, what is it?”

“Look!” He produced his right hand from under his coat and shoved it in Father Conroy’s face. Gray-faced but triumphant, he waited as Father Conroy inspected the bandages.

“Tut, tut, Mr. Drewitt, what happened?”

“The pony! I was trying to saddle him when he backed me into a corner of the stable.”

“He bit you? Oh, Lord!”

“He attacked me, damn near killed me. I seem to have caught my hand on a nail in the floor.”

“On the floor? My God! He knocked you down?”

“No, he did not, but how the hell d’you think I got away? Damn near killed me, he did. When can you take him back, Padre?”

“Take him back, Mr. Drewitt?”

“The sooner the better. Mrs. Drewitt is extremely upset. I shouldn’t be surprised if he kicks that door down.”

“Well, he’s not mine, Mr. Drewitt. I’m not responsible for him.”

“Oh, but you told me when I took him...”

“You didn’t have to take him, Mr. Drewitt.”

“You assured me that he would be suitable for Mrs. Drewitt. You mentioned her constitutional. I distinctly remember you using that expression.”

“Did I?” He tried to pull the door shut, but Drewitt had it by the handle. “Anyway, I told you he had no mouth.”

“No mouth?” Drewitt’s voice peaked. “If this is your bloody Irish idea of a joke, Padre...”

“I’m telling you he had no mouth. If you have any complaints...” He tugged suddenly at the door, and Drewitt, who was doing a little dance of rage, was too late to stop it closing. “If you have any complaints, Mr. Drewitt, I’d suggest you take them to the tinker.”

“What tinker? What are you talking about?”

“The tinker who made him what he is.” And Father Conroy rolled up the window. Smiling and nodding in answer to Drewitt’s mouthings, he raised his hand in benediction as the car moved forward.

*

At least Drewitt had taken his mind off the ordeal before him. He drove into the yard of Rosnagree and stopped a moment in the car, wondering how best to take her. The place had grown heavy with greenery; it lay quite motionless in the hush of midday. Banks of fuchsia, not yet broken into flower, piled up against the stable wall as if they had tried and failed to reach the roof. A trellis sagged under the riotous growth of a rambler rose. Thick carpets of ivy on the walls gave the house a dim look; it seemed to have retreated a step from view, become a reflection in a dark glass.