There was not much to boast of as to the hunting, but it was a very pleasant day for the ladies. The men rode up and down the grass roads through the Chace, sometimes in the greatest possible hurry as though they never could go quick enough; and then the coachmen would drive very fast also, though they did not know why, for a fast pace of movement is another of those contagious diseases. And then again the sportsmen would move at an undertaker’s pace, when the fox had traversed and the hounds would be at a loss to know which was the hunt and which was the heel; and then the carriage also would go slowly, and the ladies would stand up and talk. And then the time for lunch came; and altogether the day went by pleasantly enough.
“And so that’s hunting, is it?” said Miss Dunstable.
“Yes, that’s hunting,” said Mr. Sowerby.
“I did not see any gentleman do anything that I could not do myself, except there was one young man slipped off into the mud; and I shouldn’t like that.”
“But there was no breaking of bones, was there, my dear?” said Mrs. Harold Smith.
“And nobody caught any foxes,” said Miss Dunstable. “The fact is, Mrs. Smith, that I don’t think much more of their sport than I do of their business. I shall take to hunting a pack of hounds myself after this.”
“Do, my dear, and I’ll be your whipper-in. I wonder whether Mrs. Proudie would join us.”
“I shall be writing to the duke to-night,” said Mr. Fothergill to Mark, as they were all riding up to the stable-yard together. “You will let me tell his grace that you will accept his invitation—will you not?”
“Upon my word, the duke is very kind,” said Mark.
“He is very anxious to know you, I can assure you,” said Fothergill.