"I'm all here, I think," she said. "That was a bad cropper—in my own barnyard, too—the Brush must be yours, Mrs. Wray. Give me a cigarette, somebody."
CHAPTER IX
THE SHADOW
Mrs. Cheyne's farmhands and stablemen came running and took the horses of those who dismounted; and Mrs. Cheyne, after examining herself to see that no bones were broken, led the way, stiffly but without assistance, to the house. Camilla, still a little bewildered, saw Mackinaw led off to the stable for a rub-down. The Master of the Hounds was the first to congratulate her.
"Here is your Brush, Mrs. Wray. You've filled every woman's heart with envy. To be in at the death of the old Chelten Fox is an achievement. You had a fall. Are you injured?"
"I believe not," she said. "Mackinaw is a darling. I hope he's sound?" she inquired anxiously.
"As a bell," he said generously. "He's got the heart of an ox. You know"—he laughed and whispered—"I bought him from Mrs. Cheyne, and to-day you've vindicated me."
Others came up, men of the Hunt Club, and asked to be presented, and Camilla, enjoying her triumph, followed the party to the house.
Mrs. Cheyne's house differed in character from that of the Janneys. It was snugly built in a pocket of the hills, facing to the south. The original building, square and massive, dated from the early eighteenth century, but two symmetrical wings at the sides had greatly increased its original size. Large pillars and a portico gave the graceful lines which the addition demanded. The wide stair hall which ran from front to back had not been altered, and the furniture and hangings rigidly preserved the ancient atmosphere.
The surprised butler and his assistant hurriedly prepared hot Scotches and toddy, and the halls and large rooms on the lower floor were soon filled with the swaggering company—all talking at once, each with his tale of luck or misfortune.