Ahead of them, as they turned into the road, they could see Mr. Linton, looking extraordinarily huge on Killaloe, beside Geoffrey’s little figure on Brecon.
“This is a great day for Geoff,” Hardress said.
“Yes—he has been just longing to go to a meet. Of course he has driven a good many times, but Mrs. Hunt has been a bit nervous about his riding. But he’s perfectly safe—and it isn’t as if Brecon ever got excited.”
“No. Come along, Norah, there’s a splendid stretch of grass here: let’s canter!”
They had agreed upon a Christian-name footing some time before, when it seemed that Hardress was likely to be a permanent member of the household. She looked at him now, as they cantered along through the dew-wet grass at the side of the road. No one would have guessed at anything wrong with him: he was bronzed and clear-eyed, and sat as easily in the saddle as though he had never been injured.
“Sometimes,” said Norah suddenly, “I find myself wondering which of your legs is the shop one!” She flushed. “I suppose I oughtn’t to make personal remarks, but your leg does seem family property!”
“So it is,” said Hardress, grinning. “Anyhow, you couldn’t make a nicer personal remark than that one. So I forgive you. But it’s all thanks to you people.”
“We couldn’t have done anything if you hadn’t been determined to get on,” Norah answered. “As soon as you made up your mind to that—well, you got on.”
“I don’t know how you stood me so long,” he muttered. Then they caught up to the riders ahead, and were received by Geoffrey with a joyful shout.
“You were nearly late, Norah,” said Mr. Linton.