"Perhaps I ought to be, at any rate; and although I have somehow managed to 'rile' you, I have never forgotten, and never will forget, what a brick you have always been."
Major Moncrief growled out some indistinct words, and went to the window; Wilton followed him. "You'll scarcely manage a run to-day;" he said; "the ground is very hard, and, if I am not much mistaken, there's a lot of snow up there," pointing to a dense mass of heavy drab clouds to windward.
"No," returned Moncrief, uncertainly, "it is considerably milder this morning; besides, the wind is too high, and it is too early for snow."
"Not in these latitudes; and it has been deucedly cold for the week past."
"At any rate, I will go to the meet," said Moncrief, leaving the room. "What are you going to do?"
"I shall not hunt to-day; I am going over to Monkscleugh."
"Hum! to buy toys for the child?"
"Yes," said Wilton, laughing. "But for to-day I am safe: Lady Fergusson and her fair daughter, attended by our diplomatic cousin, are going to Brantwood, where there is a coming-of-age ball, or some such high-jinks. They politely invited me to be of the party; but I resisted, Moncrief—I resisted!"
"Did you, by George! That puzzles me."