“Gal looks well outside a horse. Very well indeed. Pity that old ruffian should ruin so fair a picture.”
Cheriton seemed prepared to criticise his rival’s style of horsemanship. Reluctantly, however, he forbore to do so. For George had been drilled very severely in his youth; and in spite of his years and his weight he was able to make a creditable appearance in the saddle.
“Do you know, Lord Cheriton,” said Jim, “I almost regret that I did not attempt an equestrian portrait.”
My lord’s brows went up.
“Upon my word, Lascelles,” said he, “you are an uncommonly bold fellow to mention the word ‘portrait.’”
“I agree with you,” said Jim.
He laughed rather bitterly. Cheriton affected a gravely paternal air.
“Lascelles,” said he, “I think the fact that at school your father imbued me with the elements of wisdom gives some sort of sanction to a little plain speaking on my part.”
“Go on, Lord Cheriton,” said Jim, with gloomy resignation. “Rub it in.”
“I think, Lascelles,” said Cheriton, with a fine assumption of the air of a “head beak,” “your conduct merits censure in the highest degree.”