“May I ask the name of the fortunate young lady?”
“You may,” I answered calmly, helping myself to toast. “It is little Lady Beatrice.”
She burst into a peal of laughter, but stopped suddenly.
“What nonsense! Are you going to take the groom’s place, then, and hold the leading-rein?”
“If she rides with one, very likely,” I answered.
There was a short silence. Then Miss Hamilton returned to the charge.
“How old is your inamorata?” she inquired. “Seven or eight?”
“Twelve next birthday,” I answered promptly.
“It’s quite too ridiculous!” she declared, tossing her head. “I really wanted you to come with me this morning, because you know the country,” she added, with a sidelong glance from her dark eyes.
“Nothing would have given me greater pleasure,” I declared; “but a promise is a promise, you know, and we made this one before we knew any thing about the meet.”