"Your uncle had better mind his own business," said Mr. Kingston, with sudden irritation. "If you are to have a horse at all, you must have one that is fit to ride, of course."
"But I think it is his business," suggested Rachel, laughingly.
"No; just now it is mine. I mean," he added hastily, a little alarmed at the expression and colour of her face, "that Black Agnes is mine. And while I lend her to you she is yours. And I trust you will use her in every way as if she were actually yours."
"Thank you; you are very kind. I hope nothing will happen to her. I shall take great care of her, of course. I will not jump fences or anything of that sort."
"Oh, pray do," urged Mr. Kingston. "She is trained to jump. She has carried a lady over fences scores of times." The fact was he had only bought her a few days before, and had selected her from a large and miscellaneous assortment on account of this special qualification. "I hope you will let me ride out with you, and show you my old cross-country hunting leaps. You will not mind jumping fences with her, if I am with you, and make you do it?"
"No," she said, "for I shall show you that it is not the fault of my riding if accidents happen."
"Exactly. I am sure it will not be your fault. But we will not have any accidents—I will take too good care of you. Can't we go out this afternoon? Oh, I forgot that habit. I'll call on your tailor, if you'll allow me, and 'exhort' him; shall I? I have done it before, on my own account, with the most satisfactory results."
"No, thank you," said Rachel, "I would not give you that trouble. He will send it home when it is ready, I suppose."
And she rose from her chair and began to move about the room, wondering whether her aunt was ever coming downstairs.
Mr. Kingston thought it would be expedient to change the conversation.