A quick step hurrying from the dining-room, and Mrs. Budd’s emphatic voice was lifted.
“Where did those horses come from?” The tone expressed mere general wonder to the aggregation in the hall, that quickened to personal apprehension at sight of her daughter equipped for the saddle.
“Why, Julia!” she began. Then seeing Bessie Lewis, she hesitated, dismayed.
“‘Are you ready?’”
“We’re just off, mama!” cried Julia. “I told James to have the cart ready to drive you over to the ‘finish.’”
“Off? Over?” Mrs. Budd helplessly questioned.
“Why, the drag—the drag-hunt!” her daughter exclaimed. “You haven’t forgotten our great event!”
“The drag-hunt! My dear child! Why, you’re crazy!” Mrs. Budd’s hands were eloquent of horror. “Mr. Thair—Mr. Holden! Surely—why, it’s impossible!”
Thair repudiating all part in the proceeding, Holden struggling for neutral ground, Mrs. Budd adjuring them to a firm stand with her against this harebrained escapade, a confusion of voices began. Bessie Lewis wavered in the face of her hostess’s vehemence. In the midst of the indecision Julia, who had been standing, her teeth on her under lip, her crop slashing at her boots, suddenly recommanded the situation.