'"No, sir; Shad is taking me and Oliver. We have only been once before." And as I spoke, I saw, to my great relief, Shad and my brother emerging from a bend in the lane.
'"And pray, what does Shad mean by letting you start at this break-neck pace, and down this lane too,—full of holes like fish-pools, and flints as sharp as the point of my rapier? Out upon him! If you had thrown down Hebe! That old fool Shad shall be taken to account for this."
'In spite of the awe that I felt for my father, I could not sit silently and hear dear old Shad abused, especially when I knew my brother and I were alone to blame with regard to the "break-neck pace."
'"Indeed, sir," I cried eagerly, "it was not Shad's fault at all. He called to us the whole way not to gallop; but we wouldn't stop, because we wanted to run races."
'"Faith! but she's a spirited little damsel," said my father's companion, laughing. "Come, Dalrymple, as Hebe's knees, luckily, are not broken, you must forgive her this time. You won't have the trouble of keeping her in order much longer, you know. It will be somebody else's business to scold her soon."
'Somebody else! What could he mean? I dared not ask, for he had not spoken to me; so I could only glance curiously, first at him, then at my father. There was not much to be gathered from their faces, however. That of the latter was stern, and a little anxious, while his friend's expressed nothing but amusement.
'"There, there! A truce to that for the present, Mountfort," my father said as he caught my eye. "As you say, Hebe's knees are, luckily, not broken—(no thanks to her mistress, though); so we will say no more about it now. Frances, this is my friend, Sir Harry Mountfort. Give him your hand; and don't look sheepish, like a little country maiden who has never seen a gentleman in her life before."
'Now, however sheepish one may feel, one does not like to be called so before a stranger; so I held up my head, and made a tremendous effort to look dignified and self-possessed, as became Mistress Frances Dalrymple of Horsemandown. Sir Harry shook hands good-naturedly; asked me about my hunting; said I sat my horse admirably, and wished me a good day's sport; but I could hardly answer him properly, because I was trying all the time to hear what my father was saying to Shad and Oliver. He did not take Shad to task, as he had threatened to do, but merely told him to go on with Oliver, and to take the horses gently down the lane. But what was my dismay when he said, "Mistress Frances will not hunt this morning. I shall take her home with me!" I really could not keep the tears out of my eyes this time, it was such a terrible disappointment. I looked ruefully at Sir Harry, with a faint hope that he might remonstrate on my behalf, as he had done before. But no: he evidently did not mean to do any such thing; so I was obliged to keep my vexation to myself, and watch Shad and Oliver with longing eyes, as they vanished from view down the lane. I could not understand whether my father was still angry with me or not, but thought he must have put a stop to my hunting as a punishment for my carelessness in risking Hebe's knees. What other reason he could have, I tried in vain to imagine. He had never before cared to have me with him,—never before introduced me to any of the friends who from time to time he brought to Horsemandown. At all events, whatever his motive might be, I thought it very hard to be obliged to ride soberly home by my father's side, when I might have been galloping over the fields, leaping hedges and ditches,—chattering at my ease to Oliver, with no one to control us but poor, dear, old Shad, who let us do almost anything we chose; and whom in return, I am afraid, we teased without mercy. We rode slowly back up the lane, and through the park; and though I kept on crying to myself, I contrived to choke back the sobs that rose in my throat. But tears would roll faster and faster down my cheeks. I thought of my last day's hunting, when I had outstripped all the ladies of the party, not to mention Oliver and Shad,—when the master of the hounds had praised my horsemanship, and I had struck Miles and Roger with awe and admiration by bringing home the brush in my hat. How proud I was of my exploits that day! and how much I had been bent upon gaining even more praise this morning! Dear me! I am afraid I must have been a vain little girl in those days, and a very foolish one too, to make such a fuss about a little disappointment. A year later I had learned to be wiser; for the more of the world we see, the less important we think ourselves; and when once we know by experience what real trouble is, little everyday vexations seem much easier to bear. For some time my father and Sir Harry were too much wrapped up in their own conversation to take any notice of me or my tears. I daresay I should have listened too, and forgotten my grievance, if I could have understood what they were saying; but, unfortunately, they spoke French; and though I used to read French and make translations every day with Master Waynefleet, that was quite a different thing to being able to follow it when people chose to speak in very fast and eager undertones. Now and then I caught my own name, but that only made me feel more aggrieved at not understanding anything else. So I cried on like a silly child, "because I'd nothing else to do" (as that Irish song says, that Christie is always singing when she goes up and down stairs). At last Sir Harry turned his head to ask me whether I thought mamma would give him a night's lodging, and looked somewhat astonished at the sight of my dolorous face.
'"Why, Dalrymple!" cried he; "here's a melancholy state of things. Your daughter is weeping out those bright eyes of hers, by way of giving us a welcome to Horsemandown."
'"What's the matter now, Frances?"