But Imogen and Mrs. Bruce had been accustomed to ride and drive almost as soon as they could walk. With great nerve and full experience, fine hands, an unequalled knowledge of the tempers and dispositions, management and control, of all sorts and conditions of horses, very few secrets of the noble animal, whether in saddle or harness, were hidden from them. So when Imogen drove up to the Tasmanian Club, where her husband had temporarily deposited himself, his specimens and belongings generally, he had no misgivings as to the competency of his charioteer, nor did he offer, as most men would have done, to take the reins himself.
“How well they look,” he remarked, after the first greeting, “‘Matchless’ has fallen on her legs in coming to this establishment. Does she give any trouble in her altered condition?”
“Hardly any, only she doesn’t like waiting, now there is no cab behind her. Burra burrai, Paddy! Mine thinkit mare plenty saucy direckaly.”
That swart retainer understood the position, and helping the club servant with the heaviest trunk on to the back seat, stepped up beside it with noiseless agility, while at the same moment “Matchless” and “Graceful” moved off with regulated speed, which soon landed them at “home”—a word which Mr. Blount pleased himself by repeating more than once.
“Hilda looks just as she did,” said he, “when I first saw her at Marondah. I admired her then. I admire her now—how little I thought that I should see her again, as a sister-in-law! or that a certain ‘vision of delight was to burst upon my sight’ so soon afterwards.”
“I remember how you stared,” said Imogen; “almost rudely, indeed. Didn’t you?”
“First of all, I didn’t know that Mrs. Bruce had a sister in the house. Secondly, when the girl aforesaid appeared, unexpectedly in all her fresh and smiling loveliness—pardon my partiality—I was completely knocked over, so to speak, and couldn’t help a sort of rapt gaze—as at a wood nymph, which you unkindly call staring. I fell in love—at first sight as men say—deep, deeper, miles deep next morning, and so will remain till my life’s end.”
“I am afraid it goes rather like that with me, if I must confess,” admitted Imogen, “though the heroine of a modern novel would never have behaved so badly, now would she?”
“All’s well that ends well,” said the returned voyager. “I’ll hold the horses while you run in, Paddy!”
The luggage having been taken in, Paddy ascended nimbly, and drove soberly round to the stable.