I was glad I was not sitting on the gate, for I might have fallen and broken my neck. As I felt his eyes staring at me I preserved a dignified composure, and had the satisfaction of hearing him mutter again, "Damn!"
"This is our way," said he.
I have no doubt he thought me the dullest fool he ever came near.
Our adventures were not ended. We went on over meadow and stile until we came to "The Park," a tract of land of great beauty and with trees of superb growth. He was sullen and moody, like one whose nerves had failed him when a covey rose.
I saw it coming—his last expiring effort. In the distance was a beautiful black mare, such as might have carried Dick Turpin from London to York. He was watching to see if I observed her, but I did not.
"Look," he said, in his most coaxing manner, "don't you see that mare yonder—down there by the spinny?"
"What," I said, "on the left?"
"Down there! There—no, a little to the right. Look! There she is."
"Oh, to be sure, a pretty animal."
"Pretty! Why, there's no better bred animal in the kingdom. She's by —— out of ——."