Friday.—This has been an eventful day. I thought somehow it would be so; at all events, the first day's hunting is always an era to me—so when I came down to breakfast in my riding-habit, and braved the cold glances of my aunt and the sarcasms of my cousin, I was prepared for a certain amount of excitement, although, I confess, I did not bargain for quite so much as I got.
"You'll enjoy yourself to-day, I trust, Miss Coventry," said Aunt
Horsingham, looking as black as thunder.
"Mind you don't get a fall," observed Cousin Amelia with a sneer; but I cared little for their remarks and remonstrances. White Stockings was at the door, Cousin John ready to lift me into my saddle, and I envied no mortal woman on earth, no not our gracious Queen upon the throne, when I found myself fairly mounted, and jogging gently down the park in all the delightful anticipation of a good day's sport. I think I would rather have ridden Brilliant of the two, but John suggested that the country was cramped and sticky, with small fields and blind fences. Now, White Stockings is an animal of great circumspection, and allows no earthly consideration to hurry him. He is, moreover, as strong as a dray-horse, and as handy, so John declares, "as a fiddle." To him, therefore, was entrusted the honour of carrying me on my first appearance with the Heavy-top hounds. The meet was at no great distance from Dangerfield Hall, and being the beginning of the season, and a favourite place, there was a considerable muster of the élite of the county, and a goodly show of very respectable horses to grace the covert side. As we rode up to the mounted assemblage, I perceived, by the glance of curiosity, not to say admiration, directed at myself and White Stockings, that ladies were unusual visitors in that field, and that the Heavy-top gentlemen were not prepared to be cut down, at all events by a woman. Cousin John seems to know them all and to be a universal favourite.
"Who's the lady, John, my boy?" whispered a fat squire in a purple garment, with a face to match; "good seat on a horse, eh? rides like a bird, I'll warrant her." I did not catch John's answer; but the corpulent sportsman nodded, and smiled, and winked, and wheezed out, "Lucky dog—pretty cousin—double harness."
I don't know what he meant; but that it was something intensely ludicrous I gather from his nearly choking with laughter at his own concluding observation, though John blushed and looked rather like a fool.
"Who's that girl on the chestnut?" I again heard asked by a slang-looking man with red whiskers meeting under his chin; "looks like a larker—I must get introduced to her," added the conceited brute. How I hated him! If he had ventured to speak to me, I really think I could have struck him over the face with my riding-whip.
"I told you it would not be long before we met, Miss Coventry," said a well-known voice beside me; and turning round, I shook hands with Captain Lovell; and I am ashamed to confess, shook all over into the bargain. I am always a little nervous the first day of the season. How well he looked in his red coat and neat appointments, with his graceful seat upon a horse, and so high-bred, amongst all the country squires and jolly yeomen that surrounded us! He had more colour too than when in London, and altogether I thought I had never seen him looking so handsome. The chestnut with the wicked eye, showing off his fine shape, now divested of clothing, curvetted and bent to his rider's hand as if he thoroughly enjoyed that light restraining touch: the pair looked what the gentlemen call "all over like going," and I am sure one of them thought so too.
"I saw your horses on their way to Muddlebury yesterday," I at length found courage to say. "Are you going to hunt all the season with the Heavy-top?"
"How long do you stay at Dangerfield?" was the counter question from Frank; "you see I know the name of the place already; I believe I could find my way now about the Park; very picturesque it is too by night, Miss Coventry. Do you like music by moonlight?"
"Not if it's played out of tune," I answered with a laugh and a blush; but just then Squire Haycock, whom I scarcely knew in his hunting costume, rode up to us, and begged as a personal favour to himself that we would accompany him to a particular point, from which he could ensure us a good start if the fox went away—his face becoming scarlet as he expressed a hope "Miss Coventry would not allow her fondness for the chase to lead her into unnecessary danger;" whilst Frank looked at him with a half-amused, half-puzzled expression that seemed to say, "What a queer creature you are; and what the deuce can that matter to you?"