“I’ll try her myself some morning,” said his lordship, who thought himself a better horseman than he was.
“I wouldn’t advise you, my lord.”
“Who the devil asked your advice?”
“Ten to one she’ll kill you, my lord.”
“That’s my look out,” said Liftore, and went into the house.
As soon as he had done with Kelpie, Malcolm dressed himself in his new livery, and went to tell his mistress of her arrival. She sent him orders to bring the mare round in half-an-hour. He went back to her, took off her muzzle, fed her, and while she ate her corn, put on the spurs he had prepared expressly for her use—a spike without a rowel, rather blunt, but sharp indeed when sharply used —like those of the Gauchos of the Pampas. Then he saddled her, and rode her round.
Having had her fit of temper, she was, to all appearance, going to be fairly good for the rest of the day, and looked splendid. She was a large mare, nearly thoroughbred, but with more bone than usual for her breeding, which she carried triumphantly—an animal most men would have been pleased to possess—and proud to ride. Florimel came to the door to see her, accompanied by Liftore, and was so delighted with the very sight of her that she sent at once to the stables for her own horse, that she might ride out attended by Malcolm. His lordship also ordered his horse.
They went straight to Rotten Row for a little gallop, and Kelpie was behaving very well for her.
“What did you have two such savages, horse and groom both, up from Scotland for, Florimel?” asked his lordship, as they cantered gently along the Row, Kelpie coming sideways after them, as if she would fain alter the pairing of her legs.
Florimel turned and cast an admiring glance on the two.