“No; that may do to astonish our friend Cashel, and make 'my lady' jealous. By the way, Jim, I don't see why you should n't 'enter for the plate' as well as the Kennyfeck girls.”
“I like you better, Charley,” said she, curveting her horse, and passaging him alternately from side to side.
“This is the second time to-day I have played the eavesdropper unconsciously,” said Roland, in a whisper, “and with the proverbial fortune of the listener in both cases.” And with these words he moved on, leaving Linton still standing opposite the opening of the hedge.
Cashel had not advanced many paces beneath the shelter of the tall hollies, when Frobisher accidentally caught sight of Linton, and called out, “Ha, Tom,—found you at last! Where have you been hiding the whole morning?—you that should, at least, represent our host here.”
Linton muttered something, while, by a gesture, he endeavored to caution Frobisher, and apprise him of Cashel's vicinity. The fretful motion of hie horse, however, prevented his seeing the signal, and he resumed,—
“One of my people tells me that Cashel came with the Kilgoffs this morning. I say, Tom, you'll have to look sharp in that quarter. Son, there—quiet, Gustave—gently, man!”
“He's too fat, I think. You always have your cattle too heavy,” said Linton, hoping to change the topic.
“He carries flesh well. But what is it I had to tell you? Oh, I remember now,—about the yacht club. I have just got a letter from Derwent, in which he says the thing is impossible. His remark is more true than courteous. He says, 'It's all very well in such a place as Ireland to know such people, but that it won't do in England; besides that, if Cashel does wish to get among men of the world, he ought to join some light cavalry corps for a year or so, and stand plucking by Stanhope, and Dashfield, and the rest of them. They 'll bring him out if he 'll only pay handsomely.'—Soh, there, man,—do be quiet, will you?—The end of it is, that Derwent will not put his name up. I must say it's a disappointment to me; but, as a younger brother, I have only to smile and submit.”
While Lord Charles was retailing this piece of information in no very measured tone, and only interrupted by the occasional impatience of his horse, Linton's eyes were fixed on Cashel, who, at the first mention of his own name, increased his speed, so as to suggest the fond hope that some, at least, of this unwelcome intelligence might have escaped him.
“You'll have to break the thing to him, Tom,” resumed Lord Charles. “You know him better than any of us, and how the matter can be best touched upon.”