“I must be grateful to whatever lucky chance it was that brought Sir Thomas into Lincolnshire,” said Gervase.

She received this with a laugh, and a little shake of her head. She was young enough to feel embarrassment at broad compliments, but she betrayed none: plainly, she was accustomed to being very much admired, although the coming London Season, as she presently confided to the Earl, was to be her first. “For one does not count private parties, and although I was almost seventeen last spring, Mama could not be prevailed upon to present me, though even my Aunt Caroline, who is so strict and stuffy, counselled her most strongly to do so. However, this year I am to be presented, and I shall go to Almack’s, and the Opera, and everywhere!”

The Earl, concluding from this artless prattle that Miss Bolderwood moved in unexceptionable circles, began to wonder why no mention of her family had been made to him by his stepmother. In all her consequential enumerations of the persons likely to leave their cards at Stanyon he could not recall ever to have heard her utter the name of Bolderwood. But as he led Cloud into the village through which they were obliged to pass on their way to Whissenhurst Grange, an inkling of the cause of this omission was conveyed to him by an unexpected encounter with his half-brother.

Martin, who was hacking towards them in the company of a young gentleman who sported a striped waistcoat, and a Belcher tie, no sooner perceived who was the fair burden upon Cloud’s back than he spurred up, an expression on his brow both of astonishment and anger. “Marianne!” he exclaimed. “What’s this? How comes this about? What in thunder are you doing on St. Erth’s horse?”

“Why, that odious Fairy of mine, having thrown me into the mire, would not allow me to catch her!” responded Marianne merrily. “Had it not been for Lord St. Erth’s chivalry I must still be seated miserably by the wayside, or perhaps plodding along this very dirty road!”

“I wish I had been there!” Martin said.

“I wish I had been there!” gallantly echoed his companion.

“I am very glad you were not, for to be seen tumbling off my horse could not at all add to my consequence! Oh, Lord St. Erth, are you acquainted with Mr. Warboys?”

Martin, interrupting the exchange of civilities between his friend and his brother, said: “You might have been killed! I do not know what Lady Bolderwood will say! You must let me escort you home!” He seemed to become aware of the fatuity of this utterance, and added awkwardly, and with a rising colour: “You will wish to be going on your way, St. Erth!”

“I am going on my way,” replied the Earl, who was looking amused. “I must tell you, Martin, that I find you very much de trop!”

“By Jove, yes!” agreed Mr. Warboys, with even more gallant intention. “Anyone would! Would myself!” He encountered a fiery glance from Martin, which flustered him, and added hastily: “That is to say — what I meant was, that’s a devilish good-looking hunter you have there, St. Erth! Great rump and hocks! Splendid shoulders! Not an inch above fifteen-three, I’ll swear! The very thing for this country!”

“Oh, he is the loveliest creature!” Marianne said, patting Cloud’s neck. “He makes no objection to carrying me in this absurd fashion: I am sure he must be the best-mannered horse in the world!”

“My Troubadour would carry you as well!” Martin muttered.

Mr. Warboys was moved to contradict this statement. “No, he wouldn’t. Wouldn’t carry her as well as my Old Soldier! Got a tricky temper, that tit of yours.”

“He is better-paced than that screw of yours!”retorted Martin, firing up in defence of his horse.

“Old Soldier,” said Mr. Warboys obstinately, “would give her a comfortable ride.”

“You must be besotted to think so!”

“No, I ain’t. Old Soldier has often carried m’sister. Your Troubadour has never had a female on his back.”

“That can soon be mended!”

“I wonder,” said the Earl diffidently, “if you would think it rude in us to be proceeding on our way while you thrash the matter out between you? Miss Bolderwood will be in danger of contracting a chill, I fear.”

Martin cast him a smouldering look, but Mr. Warboys at once responded: “By Jupiter, so she will! Nasty wind blowing! No sense in standing about — silly thing to do!”

“I’ll accompany you!” Martin said, wheeling his horse about.

“Yes, pray do!” said Marianne, thoroughly enjoying this rivalry for her favours. “Papa and Mama will be so glad to see you! And you too, Mr. Warboys!”

“If I and not St. Erth had found you,” said Martin, “we would soon have seen whether Troubadour would have carried you or not!”

“Well, since the matter appears to trouble you, why should you not at once put it to the test?” suggested Gervase. “You will not object to changing horses, Miss Bolderwood? I very much fear that nothing less will satisfy poor Martin.”

Martin looked to be at once surprised and scornful. He had no great opinion of his brother’s mettle, but he had not expected him to relinquish his advantage so very tamely. He smiled triumphantly, and dismounted, but not in time to forestall Gervase in lifting Marianne down from Cloud’s back. She was installed on Troubadour’s saddle; the Earl swung himself on to Cloud again; and Martin, preparing to lead his horse along the street, realized too late that between the horseman and the pedestrian the advantage lay with the former. The Earl, riding easily beside the lady, was able to engage her in conversation, while his brother, plodding along at Troubadour’s head, was obliged, whenever he wished to claim her attention, to turn his head to look up at her, and to repeat his remark several times. The playful nature of her exchanges with Gervase considerably exacerbated his temper; nor was he mollified to observe that the Earl’s gallantry seemed to be very much to Marianne’s taste. After one or two unsuccessful attempts to draw her into conversation with himself, he relapsed into sulky silence; and was very nearly provoked, at journey’s end, into giving his friend, Mr. Warboys, a leveller. Mr. Warboys, a mournful witness of his discomfiture, was ill-advised enough to say to him, as Marianne led the Earl up the steps to the door of Whissenhurst Grange: “Rolled-up, dear boy! Very shabby stratagem! Fellow must have been on the Staff, I should think!”

Marianne’s safe arrival was greeted by her mother, her father, the butler, the housekeeper, and her old nurse with the most profound thanksgiving. The news of Fairy’s riderless return to the stables had only just been brought up to the house, so that there was time yet to send one of the footmen running to stop the grooms and the stableboys setting forth to scour the countryside in search of her. Sir Thomas, who had been shouting for his horse, pulling on his boots, and issuing instructions, all in one breath, was only induced to cease shaking and hugging his daughter by the necessity of thanking her preserver. His wife, though very much more restrained in her expressions, was equally obliged to the Earl; and it was hard to imagine how either of them could have been more grateful to him had he rescued Marianne from some deadly peril. As for Marianne, she laughed, and coaxed, and begged pardon, and was very soon forgiven her imprudence. Her Mama bore her upstairs to put off her muddied habit; Sir Thomas shouted for refreshment to be brought to the saloon, whither he led the Earl; and Martin, fairly gnashing his teeth, said stiffly that he would take his leave, now that he had seen Marianne restored to her parents.

“Yes, yes, there is no occasion for you to kick your heels, my boy!” said Sir Thomas genially. “To be sure, we are always glad to see you at Whissenhurst, and you too, Barny, but you will be wanting to go about your business now! This way, my lord! To think I had been meaning to wait on you next week, and here you are, making it quite unnecessary for me to do so! I am glad of it: I am no hand at doing the punctilio, you know!”

Thus dismissed, Martin bowed grandly, and left the house, closely followed by Mr. Warboys, who said helpfully, as they mounted their hacks: “No sense in getting into a miff, dear boy! Come about again presently, I daresay! Very unlucky chance your brother should have been riding in this direction, but not a bit of good staying there to outface him! Corkbrained thing to do! The devil of it is he’s a dashed handsome fellow. Good address too, besides the title.”

“If he thinks I will permit him to trifle with Marianne — !” said Martin, between his teeth.

“No reason to think he means to do so,” said Mr. Warboys soothingly. “Seemed very taken with her!”

Martin turned his head sharply to look at him, .so menacing an expression in his dark eyes that he was thrown into disorder. “What do you mean?”

“Well, now you come to ask me,” said Mr. Warboys, with the air of one making a discovery, “I don’t know what I mean! Spoke without thinking! Often do! Runs in the family: uncle of mine was just the same. Found himself married to a female with a squint all through speaking without thinking.”

“Oh, to hell with your uncle!” Martin said angrily.

“No use saying that, dear boy. The old gentleman took a pious turn years back. Won’t go to hell — not a chance of it! Aunt might — never met such a queer-tempered woman in my life!”

“Will you stop boring on and on about your relatives?” said Martin savagely.

“Don’t mind doing that: no pleasure to me to talk about them! But if you think you’re going to have a turn-up with me, old fellow, you’re devilish mistaken!”

“Saphead! Why should I?”