"Is her Ladyship in, Murray?" I asked.
"I believe so, sir," he answered. "Will you come into the drawing-room?"
I followed him into Lady Dennisford's presence. She was writing letters in a small sanctum leading out of the drawing-room, and she looked round and nodded a cheery greeting to me.
"In one moment, Hardross," she exclaimed. "I've just finished."
I had known Lady Dennisford all my life; but I found myself studying her now with altogether a new interest. She was a slim, elegant woman, pale and perhaps a little insipid looking at ordinary times, but a famous and reckless rider to hounds, and an enthusiastic sportswoman. She was one of the few women concerning whom I never heard a single breath of scandal, notwithstanding her husband's long and frequent absences. She gave me little time, however, to revise my impressions of her; for, with a little spluttering of her pen, she finished her letter and came towards me.
"I hope you've come to lunch," she remarked; "I have the most delightful young person staying with me. You'll be charmed with her."
"A young lady?" I remarked.
"Yes! An American girl who talks English—and doesn't enthuse. Seems to know something about horses too!"
"Where did you discover this paragon?" I asked.
"My cousin sent her down. She knows everybody," Lady Dennisford answered. "I met her at lunch last week, and she spoke of hunting with the Pytchley next season. She's going to have a look at the country. Sorry the rain spoilt your match."