The carriage rolled over the turf, attended by Andrew, and Lady Jocelyn, and the hunt was seen; Mr. George some forty paces a-head; Seymour gaining on him, Rose next.
“Who’s that breasting Rose?” said Lady Jocelyn, lifting her glass.
“My brother-in-law, Harrington,” returned Andrew.
“He doesn’t ride badly,” said Lady Jocelyn. “A little too military. He must have been set up in England.”
“Oh, Evan can do anything,” said Andrew enthusiastically. “His father was a capital horseman, and taught him fencing, riding, and every accomplishment. You won’t find such a young fellow, my lady—”
“The brother like him at all?” asked Lady Jocelyn, still eyeing the chase.
“Brother? He hasn’t got a brother,” said Andrew.
Lady Jocelyn continued: “I mean the present baronet.”
She was occupied with her glass, and did not observe the flush that took hold of Andrew’s ingenuous cheeks, and his hurried glance at and off the quiet eye of the Countess. Miss Carrington did observe it.
Mr. Andrew dashed his face under the palm of his hand, and murmured: