David rode along crestfallen.
Mrs. Bazalgette brought her pony close to him, and whispered, “Never mind that little cross-patch. She does not care a pin about the horse; you interrupted her flirtation, that is all.”
This piece of consolation soothed David like a bunch of stinging-nettles.
While Mrs. Bazalgette was consoling David with thorns, Kenealy and Talboys were quizzing his figure on horseback.
He sat bent like a bow and visibly sticking on: item, he had no straps, and his trousers rucked up half-way to his knee.
Lucy's attention being slyly drawn to these phenomena by David's friend Talboys, she smiled politely, though somewhat constrainedly; but the gentlemen found it a source of infinite amusement during the whole ride, which, by the way, was not a very long one, for Miss Fountain soon expressed a wish to turn homeward. David felt guilty, he scarce knew why.
The promised happiness was wormwood. On dismounting, she went to the lawn to tend her flowers. David followed her, and said bitterly, “I am sorry I came to spoil your pleasure.”
Miss Fountain made no answer.
“I thought I might have one ride with you, when others have so many.”
“Why, of course, Mr. Dodd. If you like to expose yourself to ridicule, it is no affair of mine.” The lady's manner was a happy mixture of frigidity and crossness. David stood benumbed, and Lucy, having emptied her flower-pot, glided indoors without taking any farther notice of him.