"My dear child, you could get anything you wanted out of father if you tackled him in the right way."
"Only some things."
"Anything, I said."
"I'll bet you four weeks' pocket-money that you couldn't get him to let us hunt."
"Oh, well! that's part of his religion. 'I may be old-fashioned—I dare say I am—but to see a pack of women scampering about the country and riding over the hounds—eh, what? No, thank you!' I didn't mean I could make him become a Roman Catholic, or anything of that sort. But I'll bet you what you like I'll get him to let us have a pony."
"Four shillings?"
"Right."
"Do you think you really can, Nancy? It would be jolly."
"I don't see why he shouldn't. Cicely always rode old Tommy, and so did we till he died."
"Only surreptitiously, and bare-backed. We should have to have habits and all that, now."