“Your daughter is right,” said Trevor, “I do love horses; and,” he said, laughing at Fin, “I do try to ride them.”
“I hope you’ll look at the girls’ horses, then, Mr Trevor,” said Lady Rea. “As you understand them, you’d be able to tell whether they are safe. I don’t half like the idea of the girls mounting such wild beasts as horses often are. As for me, I wouldn’t ride on one for the world.”
The idea of plump little Lady Rea in a riding-habit, mounted on a horse, like a long-draped pincushion, was too much. Tiny coloured. Aunt Matty looked horrified. Trevor grew hot and bit his lip, caught Fin’s eye, and then that young lady, who had held her handkerchief to her mouth, burst out laughing.
“Dear me!” exclaimed Lady Rea, good-humouredly. “What have I said now?—something very stupid, I’m sure. But you must not mind me, Mr Trevor, for I do make such foolish mistakes.”
Miss Matilda took hold of the two sides of the light shawl thrown over her angular shoulders, and gave it a sawing motion to work it higher up towards her neck, a shuddering sensation, like that caused by a cold current of air, having evidently attacked her spine.
“I think it was a foolish mistake, Fanny,” she said, in a voice acid enough to corrode any person’s temper, “to doubt Sir Hampton’s Judgment with respect to the horses he would choose for his daughters’ use.”
Fin began to bristle on the instant; her bright eyes flashed, and the laughing dimples fled as if in dismay, as she threw down her challenge to her aunt.
“Why, aunt,” said the girl, quickly, “one of the grooms said pa didn’t hardly know a horse’s head from its tail.”
“Oh, Fin, my dear!” cried mamma.
“Which of the grooms made use of that insolent remark?” cried Aunt Matty. “If I have any influence with your papa, that man will be discharged on the instant.”