“I haven't the honor to know Mrs. Sewell, but I saw a lady ride past, about ten minutes ago, on a black thoroughbred.”
“Faix, and well she rode him too,” broke in an old farmer.
“She took the posy out of that young gentleman's button-hole, while her beast was jumping, and stuck it in her breast, as easy as I 'm sitting here.”
Sewel's face grew purple as he darted a look of savage anger at the speaker, and, turning his horse's head, he dashed out at speed and disappeared.
“Peter Delaney,” said Westenra, “I thought you had more discretion than to tell such a story as that.”
“Begorra, Mister Tom! I didn't know the mischief I was making till I saw the look he gave me!”
It was not till after a considerable search that Sewell came up with his wife's party, who were sauntering leisurely along the river-side, through a gorse-covered slope.
“I 've had a devil of a hunt after you!” he cried, as he rode up, and the ringing tone of his voice was enough to intimate to her in what temper he spoke. “I 've something to say to you,” said he, as though meant for her private ear; and the others drew back, and suffered them to ride on together. “There 's a telegram just come from that old beast the Chief Baron; he desires to see me to-night. The last train leaves at five, and I shall only hit it by going at once. Can't you keep your horse quiet, Madam, or must you show off while I 'm speaking to you?”
“It was the furze that stung him,” said she, coldly, and not showing the slightest resentment at his tone.
“If the old bear means anything short of dying, and leaving me his heir, this message is a shameful swindle.”