“Why, it’s as red as a fox now,” said Major Bunbury, regarding it critically.
“Talking of foxes,” put in Slaney, endeavouring to be genial, “they all expect Hugh to start the hounds again when he comes over. That will give you something to do, Hugh.”
“Tally ho!” uttered Major Bunbury, with a subdued whoop. “That’s a rippin’ good notion. I’ll come over and whip for you, Hughie.”
“No, you won’t!” cried Lady Susan. “I’ll whip for him myself; but I don’t believe he knows anything about it—does he, Bunny?”
“Oh dear, no!” replied Major Bunbury, with elephantine sarcasm; “he’s a perfect owl. Can’t think why we made him carry the horn till he left the regiment—and the funny thing was that he seemed quite up to the job.”
Captain French took no notice of the compliment.
“I can’t imagine who the people are who want me to get up a pack there,” he said, without much enthusiasm; “last time I was over there seemed to be no one in the place but the parson and the two old Miss Macarthys. They’d make a pretty sort of a hunt.”
“Oh, there are a lot of farmers,” replied Slaney, “and there’s the police officer, and there’s Mr. Glasgow, the contractor of the new railway.” To her own surprise and annoyance she blushed as she spoke, and Major Bunbury, glancing incidentally at her, thought her almost handsome.
“Glasgow,” repeated Hugh; “there was a chap called Glasgow at Eton with me. What sort of age is this man?”
“Oh, he’s young—at least, not very young—I mean he’s not exactly old; but he’s older than you are, Hugh,” replied Slaney, with incoherence probably due to the blush; “his name is Wilfrid,” she added. “I think he did say something about having been at school with you.”