So sure a seat and so perfect a hand needed never to have wanted a mount. There was not a man with a stable who would not have been well pleased to see his horse ridden by such a rider; but L'Estrange declined all such offers,—a sensitive fear of being called a hunting parson deterred him; indeed, it was easy to see by the rarity with which he permitted himself the loved indulgence, what a struggle he maintained between will and temptation, and how keenly he felt the sacrifice he imposed upon himself.
Such, in brief, was the party who were now seated at table, well pleased to find themselves in presence of an admirable dinner, in a room replete with every comfort.
The day's run, of course, formed the one topic of their talk, and a great deal of merriment went on about the sailor-like performances of Jack, who had been thrown twice, but on the whole acquitted himself creditably, and had taken one high bank so splendidly as to win a cheer from all who saw him.
“I wish you had not asked that poor Frenchman to follow you, Jack,” said Augustus; “he was really riding very nicely till he came to that unlucky fence.”
“I only cried out, 'Venez donc, monsieur,' and when I turned my head, after clearing the bank, I saw his horse with his legs in the air and monsieur underneath.”
“When I picked him up,” broke in L'Estrange, “he said, 'Merci mille fois, monsieur,' and then fainted off, the poor fellow's face actually wearing the smile of courtesy he had got up to thank me.”
“Why will Frenchmen try things that are quite out of their beat?” said Jack.
“That's a most absurd prejudice of yours, Master Jack,” cried the diplomatist. “Frenchmen ride admirably, now-a-days. I've seen a steeple-chase in Normandy, over as stiff a course, and as well ridden, as ever Leicestershire witnessed.”
“Yes, yes; I've heard all that,” said the sailor, “just as I 've heard that their iron fleet is as good, if not better, than our own.”
“I think our own newspapers rather hint that,” said L'Estrange.