One afternoon, Miss Primrose, Mr. Stubb, Fanny Euston, Morton, and several others, set out on a horseback excursion, matronized by Mrs. Primrose. At a few miles from New Baden, Morton found himself riding at his cousin's side, a little behind the rest.
"Do you know, I came this morning, to ask you to join us on our walk to Elk Ridge."
"Ah, I am sorry I was not there."
"You were there; but you seemed so deep in Ivanhoe, or some other of your favorites, that I had no heart to interrupt you."
"But that was quite absurd. I should like to have gone."
"I am curious to know what book you were so busy with. Something of Scott's—was it not?"
"Not precisely."
"Nor one of the new novels," pursued Morton—"those are not after your taste."
"Not at all; they are all full of some grand reform or philanthropic scheme, or the sorrows of some destitute, uninteresting little wretch, with whom you are required to sympathize."
"You are not moulded after the philanthropic model. But may I ask, what book was entertaining you so much?"