"I say, Kingsland, who's that girl on the splendid roan? She sits superbly, and is stunningly handsome besides. I beg your pardon, Lady Louise—perhaps you know."
"Lord Ernest Strathmore is excited on the subject. That young lady is Miss Harriet Hunsden. Don't lose your head, my lord. One gentleman possesses that heart, and all the rest of you may sigh in vain."
"Indeed! And who is the fortunate possessor?"
"Captain Hunsden, her father."
At the first mention of her name Sir Everard Kingsland had turned sharply around and beheld—his fate. But he did not know it. He only saw a handsome, spirited-looking girl, sitting a magnificent roan horse as easily as if it had been an arm-chair, and talking animatedly to a stalwart soldierly man with white hair and mustache.
As he glanced away from his prolonged stare he met the piercing gaze of
Lady Louise's turquoise-blue eyes.
"Et tu, Brute?" she cried gayly. "Oh, my prophetic soul! Did I not warn you, Sir Everard? Did I not foretell that the dashing damsel in the scarlet habit would play the mischief with your fox-hunting hearts? No, no! never deny the soft impeachment! But I tell you, as I told Lord Ernest, it is of no use. She is but seventeen, and 'ower young to marry yet.'"
Before Sir Everard could retort, the cry of "Here they come!" proclaimed the arrival of the hounds.
The hounds were put into the gorse, and the red-coats began to move out of the field into the lane, Sir Everard and Lady Louise with them.
A loud "Halloo!" rang through the air; the hounds came with a rushing roar over a fence.