"Well, I don't see much to cry at if your father did not find you out; the young man is never likely to talk."
"Oh, but uncle Tom; papa and mamma think so badly of him, and I can't tell them that I was there; and they will never let me marry him."
"Oh! so you are in love, Pussy?"
"Yes, uncle."
Tom Esterworth smote his hand against his corduroy thigh.
"What a mistake!" he exclaimed; "a girl who can go across country as you do—what on earth do you want to be married for? Is it Mr. Pryme, Pussy?"
Beatrice nodded.
"And he can't go a yard," said her uncle, sorrowfully and reproachfully.
"Oh, I think he goes very well, uncle; his seat is capital; it is only his hands that are a bit heavy; but then he has had very little practice."
"Tut—tut, don't talk to me, child; he is no horseman. He may be a good young man in his way, but what can have made you take a fancy to a fellow who can't ride is a mystery to me! Now tell me the whole story, Pussy."