I turned upon my consoler, and saw a young countryman with a fur-lined coat hanging upon his arm.
"I got this thrown in the bohireen above," he said, "the other gentleman, that's follying the bay horse, stripped it off him, and God knows it's itself that's weighty!"
"My dear Major!" began Looshy, addressing me agitatedly from the bank, as a hen might address a refractory duckling, "there has been a most unfortunate mistake."
"There has! There has! It's all Flurry's fault!" gasped Philippa, staggering towards me like a drunken woman.
"I fear the General is terribly annoyed," continued Looshy, wiping his grey beard and mopping his collar to remove the muddy imprint of Philippa's arm; "he rushed into Garden Mount in search of his horses when he found they were not at the meet nor at the station—he left Lady Porteous with my sisters and took me to identify you; I mentioned your name, but he did not seem to grasp it—indeed his language was—er—was such that I thought it unwise to press the point."
I dropped the reins and began, slowly, to wade out of the pool.
"I understand he has but just paid £300 for these horses—it was an unpardonable mistake of Flurry's," went on Looshy, "he found the General's horses at the station and thought that they were Flavin's."
"Dear Flurry!" sobbed Philippa, shamelessly, reeling against me and clutching my arm.
"Begor' he have the horse!" said the young countryman, looking up the hill.
A stout figure in a red coat and tall hat was approaching by way of the bohireen, followed by a man leading a limping horse.