“That, sir,” explained Colonel Beverley, “is an annual custom in the county. The gentlemen in this vicinity all assemble at daybreak at the house of some gentleman in the neighborhood, for at daybreak the scent lies. The huntsmen have a hasty breakfast by lamp-light, and start out before sunrise. The fox is seldom caught for several hours, because we have the red fox in this county, which can double many times on his pursuers. Then the victorious huntsman presents the brush to the lady he wishes to compliment. It is a little ceremony of great antiquity. And then they have the hunt breakfast, with eggnog, the flower of all seductive beverages which bloom at Christmas time.”
“Do you think it is possible,” asked Fortescue of Betty, “that I, with three of my brother officers, who are spending Christmas with me, could be permitted to join in the Christmas hunt day after to-morrow?”
“Certainly,” cried Betty. “The huntsmen are to meet at Bendover, the Carteret place, and Sally Carteret is my best friend. I’ll ask Sally to invite you.”
Although the great fortress lay only forty miles off, and was well known by sight to Betty Beverley and Sally Carteret and all the other girls in the county, the dashing young officers were not much in evidence, and Betty secretly gloried at the idea of presenting four of these adorable creatures at the Christmas hunt. As for Fortescue, who knew the world well, the frank confidence and the cordial hospitality of these unsophisticated country gentlepeople delighted him beyond words.
Then they talked awhile on what the rest of the world was talking about, Betty listening with all her ears, and putting in an occasional word. Most of Fortescue’s conversation was addressed to the Colonel, but his eyes were furtively fixed on Betty’s charming face and her little feet, with buckles on her low shoes showing coquettishly from the edge of her gown. Fortescue professed an admiration and affection for Rosehill which, it must be admitted, was very much accentuated by Betty’s bright eyes. Colonel Beverley, with finely shaded sarcasm, expressed regret that Fortescue’s father, the great New York banker, should not spend more time at Rosehill, and Fortescue assumed an apologetic attitude for his father, and was full of regret that he himself was debarred from being much at Rosehill.
“You chose the profession of a soldier,” said the Colonel, “when, as I understand, you might very well have been a well fed drone in the hive.”
“Hardly,” replied Fortescue, laughing. “My father doesn’t like drones. He is himself a man of action and achievement, and my two brothers have been trained to work in my father’s own line. But I always loved the military profession, and have no taste nor, indeed, capacity for any other. It is one of the sacrifices of an army life that I can only come to Rosehill at intervals. But wait until I retire, thirty-six years from now. Then I intend to settle myself at Rosehill permanently.”
“I am afraid I can’t wait so long to welcome you,” said the Colonel, smiling.