The splashed one is too polite to say much, but that does not prevent him from "thinking a lot;" and as he wipes the mud from his face he registers a vow to give my lady the slip on the first possible opportunity. This comes shortly, for a few minutes later there is an unmistakable find, and the hounds are seen tearing through the underwood to the right.
"This way—this way," pants Mrs. Polson, making the best of her road for a gate in an exactly opposite direction; "they are sure to turn to the left, and we shall be all right."
A view holloa on the right, followed by Tom's horn, decides the mud-bespattered gentleman, and he turns off, galloping down a ride which, as far as he can judge, leads to where he hears the hounds. He arrives just in time to see them top the bank, and when he finds himself well out of the wood, with some seven or eight men and one lady, who have got an equally good start, he congratulates himself on having escaped, and thinks how his friend must be gnashing his teeth. Luck, however, favours Mrs. Polson, for the hounds swing round to the left, and she and her attendant squire ride through a hand-gate just as they go by. "There, I told you we should be all right," she says, highly gratified with herself, yet the while casting an anxious glance round the field for a gate which is nowhere visible.
"For'ard on; he's away over the plough, Tom," shouts Sir John as he gallops up; and they race him down towards a most uncompromising-looking stake and bound. Mrs. Talford is first over, and her husband follows close in her wake. The emancipated sportsman goes next, and barely saves a fall; then comes a farmer on a stout cob, who goes crash through the whole fabric, rolling himself far into the next field, while the cob reposes in the ditch. However he has made a most convenient gap, at which the Member's wife keeps a score or more impatient people waiting, while she, holding her steed tight by the head, vainly endeavours to summon up sufficient courage to ride him over the place.
"Hang the woman; she's an impostor," mutters Stranger No. 2, now thoroughly exasperated, as he sees his friend sailing merrily away in the distance.
"Oh dear, I am afraid you must think me very tiresome," said Mrs. Polson to him; "I never knew my horse to refuse before; there must be something wrong with him. Please don't wait for me;" and, turning to her sandwich-bearer: "John, follow me down into the lane; I am afraid one of the horse's shoes are loose." Again, to her squire: "Please go on, I will catch you up again directly;" and she goes off to the road, where of course John finds the shoes, as he knew he would, perfectly tight. "Thank goodness for that," thinks her ex-equerry-in-waiting, making best haste to get to the hounds again; and as he manages to come up with them while Tom is making a cast, he tells his host the Master that he owes him one for not putting him up to Mrs. P. and her riding powers.
Sir John laughs and says: "All right, old boy, you won't see her again till we have killed or lost and are going to draw for a fresh one. She will have finished her lunch by then; but I daresay there will be some sherry-and-water left for you as a reward."
Before his marriage the hon. Member for Bullshire was a most punctual man; but now, somehow, he always turns up late, and is seldom, if ever, seen at the meet, or till hounds are running, when he will suddenly appear riding as forward as ever. When asked by his friends the reason for this strange behaviour, he merely winks and looks over towards where his estimable spouse may be seen in the far distance pounding along through the gates, followed by the faithful John with the luncheon.