“I wish he could have honoured us on his own account,” he answered, stooping to respond to the earnest pleading of a sleek head at his knee. “I’m coming in, to-night, if I may? I want some advice. And look here, you’ll stop out to lunch, of course? We’re making straight along the river to Monteagle, and probably round by Bytham to Halfrebeck. It’s a grand day, and we should have some sport.”
Here Swainson broke in breathlessly with information, and Christian listened attentively, putting in a word from time to time. Then he turned to Deborah again.
“You haven’t seen Larry anywhere about, have you? He’ll look after you, of course—and Callander. And Nettie wants to know whether you’ll look after her, though I expect Rishwald will take that as his prerogative. I wonder if he’s returned that fish-thing of Savaury’s, yet!” Their eyes met, and they laughed. Then he lowered his voice. “May I see you home when we draw off?”
“Certainly not!” Deb answered quickly, turning hastily to look for signs of Larrupper. “You’re wasting too much time on me as it is—Mrs. Stalker thinks so, at least. And the Master’s place is with hounds until they’re safely back in kennels—surely you ought to know that!”
“Yes, but Brathay can take them all right, and he simply loves walking them along the road, with all the kiddies in the place admiring behind. And you know I want to see your father.”
“Then you can come after tea, when I shall be busy writing to registry-offices,” she told him unkindly. “And if you intend to hunt to-day, you’d better get started, especially as I can see a streak of mud in the distance that is probably Larry.”
It was. He came racing through the crowd just as Christian snatched the last word of the conversation. “I’m coming!” he insisted, in a tone she had not heard from him before, and gave her no chance of reply, turning away to drag his tardy cousin out of the splashed car.
“No end sorry, Laker—shouldn’t have waited—sprintin’ like the deuce!” he gasped, throwing off his leather coat, and beckoning to a groom in the stable-yard. “Grange goin’ huntin’, too, old man,” he explained kindly. “Awful sport, Grange. S’pose your chap can shove the beastly thing in somewhere?”
Without waiting for an answer he fell upon Deborah, and with his arm through hers marched her off at the tail of the pack in full view of all present, as Christian started up the avenue.
“I’m badly in want of soothin’, Debbie dear,” he announced plaintively, bending his black bullet head to her cool cheek. “I ran over for Verity—she’s always been a nailer at huntin’, you know—but there was no gettin’ her off the spot, she was so busy slavin’ for that evenin’ shout of hers. She was sittin’ round sortin’ hanks an’ hanks of white piqué an’ a stack of black, fluffy bobs; and all the time I was persuadin’ her to come huntin’ she was fixin’ a skirt-thing on me, an’ tryin’ the bobs up an’ down it, to see where they looked best. It was no use tellin’ her what a rippin’ day it was, an’ plenty of scent, an’ real interestin’ news like that. All she said was—‘Yes, dear, just an inch or two to the right’—an’—‘Yes, dear, five, I think, instead of six’—all that sort of irritatin’ piffle. So at last I got rattled an’ cleared out to go huntin’ without her, but old Grange grabbed me half-way down the drive an’ said I’d forgotten to leave the skirt-thing behind; an’ just as I was rushin’ back, blushin’, two of the squawkers arrived for a mornin’ sing-song, an’ giggled fit to kill themselves. Of course I pretended I was used to goin’ about like that, but I felt dancin’ mad, I can tell you, and I want soothin’ very badly, Debbie dear, so you can just start in an’ do it!”