"Of course," said Lady Mabel, "and the Squire's daughter."
"Dear little thing!" exclaimed Rorie, with an elder brother's tenderness; "she'll be as pleased as Punch. You'll hunt, of course, Mabel?"
"I don't know. I don't shine in the field, as Miss Tempest does."
"Oh, but you must come, Mab. The Duke will find you a safe mount."
"She has a hunter I bred on purpose for her," said the Duke; "but she'll never be such a horsewoman as her mother."
"She looks lovely on Mazeppa," said Rorie; "and she must come to my hunting breakfast."
"Of course, Rorie, if you wish I shall come."
Rorie stayed to luncheon, and then went back to Briarwood to mount his horse to ride to the Abbey House.
The afternoon was drawing in when Rorie rode up to the old Tudor porch—a soft, sunless, gray afternoon. The door stood open, and he saw the glow of the logs on the wide hearth, and the Squire's stalwart figure sitting in the great arm-chair, leaning forward with a newspaper across his knee, and Vixen on a stool at his feet, the dogs grouped about them.
"Shall I send my horse round to the stables, Squire?" asked Rorie.