“Was that old Uncle Jolyon? Mother always says he was a topper.”
“He was,” said Holly simply, and opened the stable door.
In a loose-box stood a silver roan of about fifteen hands, with a long black tail and mane. “This is mine—Fairy.”
“Ah!” said Val, “she’s a jolly palfrey. But you ought to bang her tail. She’d look much smarter.” Then catching her wondering look, he thought suddenly: “I don’t know—anything she likes!” And he took a long sniff of the stable air. “Horses are ripping, aren’t they? My Dad...” he stopped.
“Yes?” said Holly.
An impulse to unbosom himself almost overcame him—but not quite. “Oh! I don’t know he’s often gone a mucker over them. I’m jolly keen on them too—riding and hunting. I like racing awfully, as well; I should like to be a gentleman rider.” And oblivious of the fact that he had but one more day in town, with two engagements, he plumped out:
“I say, if I hire a gee to-morrow, will you come a ride in Richmond Park?”
Holly clasped her hands.
“Oh yes! I simply love riding. But there’s Jolly’s horse; why don’t you ride him? Here he is. We could go after tea.”
Val looked doubtfully at his trousered legs.