Martin, interrupting the exchange of civilities between his friend and his brother, said: “You might have been killed! I do not know what Lady Bolderwood will say! You must let me escort you home!” He seemed to become aware of the fatuity of this utterance, and added awkwardly, and with a rising colour: “You will wish to be going on your way, St. Erth!”
“I am going on my way,” replied the Earl, who was looking amused. “I must tell you, Martin, that I find you very much de trop! ”
“By Jove, yes!” agreed Mr. Warboys, with even more gallant intention. “Anyone would! Would myself!” He encountered a fiery glance from Martin, which flustered him, and added hastily: “That is to say — what I meant was, that’s a devilish good-looking hunter you have there, St. Erth! Great rump and hocks! Splendid shoulders! Not an inch above fifteen-three, I’ll swear! The very thing for this country!”
“Oh, he is the loveliest creature!” Marianne said, patting Cloud’s neck. “He makes no objection to carrying me in this absurd fashion: I am sure he must be the best-mannered horse in the world!”
“My Troubadour would carry you as well!” Martin muttered.
Mr. Warboys was moved to contradict this statement. “No, he wouldn’t. Wouldn’t carry her as well as my Old Soldier! Got a tricky temper, that tit of yours.”
“He is better-paced than that screw of yours! ”retorted Martin, firing up in defence of his horse.
“Old Soldier,” said Mr. Warboys obstinately, “would give her a comfortable ride.”
“You must be besotted to think so!”
“No, I ain’t. Old Soldier has often carried m’sister. Your Troubadour has never had a female on his back.”