"I'll be trying to buy her off ye, Jack, if I see much of her. 'Tis a little beauty she is."
"I'm not selling, though I intended to ask you to keep her, if—"
A quick pressure on his arm arrested him.
"That will do! I'm too heavy for her anyway."
"So was that devil of a groom you put on her."
"Ay. I'm a fool."
"I always knew that."
"Whisht now, Jack! Ye'll have to take one of my nags while she heals, if ye won't stay with us. Can ye trust her to me for a week, do ye suppose?"
"I don't know. It seems as though I must—oh, I retract, I retract. You are altogether too large, the day is too hot, and my cravat too nicely tied—Egad, Miles! I wish—oh, I wish we were boys again, and—Yes. When may I see your son and heir?"
"Sure, ye may come now and find Molly, who'll be aching for the sight of you. Afther you, Sir Anthony Ferndale, Bart!"