“Then that’s all right. You see, the hounds meet here to-morrow, the best draw at this side of the county, and the country is all plain sailing, very sound going. You hunt, of course?”
“No, indeed. But do you?”
“Don’t I? Every one hunts down here. I’ve had fifty days this winter already.”
“Oh, then you are not too decrepit to ride?” I inquired.
He stared at me for a second, and burst into a roar of laughter as he answered—
“I hunt six days a week regular; there’s nothing to touch it.”
“You must require a good many horses.”
“Yes, pretty well; I have thirty, but two of them are dead lame, and three are mere jumping hacks. Would you like to come down-stairs and do the picture-gallery? This blessed demi-semi dance won’t begin for an hour.”
“I should like to see the pictures very much indeed,” I answered; and we made our way slowly back to the head of the stairs. The crowd was immense. There seemed to be two or three hundred people present. The grand staircase was deserted now. Guests had arrived and ebbed away to the ball-room or tea-room. We descended the delightfully shallow stairs side by side, I moving with the dignity due to my rich satin train, which trailed behind me languidly.