"Now, if you were a fox," he said as they cantered towards the woods, "would you go up that hill again with dusk coming on?"
"But aren't foxes like women—always doing just what you don't expect them to?" she said, as she pulled the gate open.
"Those are the twisty ones which we catch," he said briefly. "Now they're at him! Unless he gets into a hole, he's done."
George Freyne said gloomily that he would dismiss his head man. This was when the fox found refuge in some rocks quite close to the house.
"I'd better ride on and have some cold things put out, hadn't I, Dearest George?" observed Mrs. Freyne happily, "and get eggs done. Anne's hot cakes will be sure to be ready. Everyone is here and we shall have quite a party," she added pleasantly. "Come and have a drink, Rourke, and bring anyone."
"Thin I wouldn't say against another glass of that ginger wine, Ma'am," said Rourke bashfully. "There was the sweetest sort of bite in it, a sphur in the head it gave ye."
"Stay there, George; we might dig him." Darby stopped George as he turned to ride away. "Don't desert me—as fellow-Master."
Mr. Freyne put the peak above his forehead with a gesture of pure tragedy. Nothing but a speedy rush to the house could have saved his Chartreuse.
CHAPTER XIII
"This," remarked Psyche, opening the hall door very wide, "is the loveliest place that I have ever been in."