He and Cora started together, less, perhaps, from chivalry on Burton's part than because of his desire to watch the performance of the mare, but in the course of the run they became separated, and he finally jogged home alone.
He dismounted in the stable-yard and stood watching one of the grooms loosening the saddle-girths, while he and the head man discussed the excellent conduct of his own horses as compared with the really pitiable showing of other people's, and debated whether the wretched deterioration in a certain Canadian bay horse ridden that day by the Master of Hounds was owing to naturally poor conformation on the part of the horse, or deplorable lack of judgment on the part of the rider.
In the midst of these absorbing topics, Crane suddenly became aware that Smithfield was waiting for him at the gateway. He stopped short in what he was saying.
"You wanted to speak to me, Smithfield?"
"When you've finished, sir."
Crane had finished, he said, and turned in the direction of the house with the butler at his side.
"There's been a terrible disturbance at the house, sir, since you went out this morning."
"Oh, my powers!" cried Burton. "What has been happening now?"
Smithfield was stepping along, throwing out his feet and resting on the ball of his foot with the walk that Mrs. Falkener had so much admired.
"Well, sir," he said, "the trouble has been between Mr. Tucker and Brindlebury."