He said it lightly, but he meant it. He had hunting blood in his veins, and he loved the horses and the dogs. He loved the cold crisp air, and the excitement of the chase. But what he did not love was the hunted animal, doubling on its tracks, pursued, panting, torn to pieces by the hounds.
"Old Pete deserved to live and die among the hills," Beulah said. "Is Miss Chesley coming down?"
"Yes, and a lot of others. They will put up at the club. Mother and Sulie aren't up to entertaining a crowd."
He wanted Eric's dogs for ducks. Dutton-Ames and one or two others did not ride to hounds, and would come to Bower's in the morning.
As he rode away, he was conscious that as soon as his back was turned Eric's arm would again be about Beulah, and Beulah's head would be on Eric's shoulder. And that he would lift her over the threshold as they went in.
That afternoon Richard motored over to the Country Club to welcome Eve. She laughed at his little car. "I'd rather see you on big Ben than in that."
"Ben can't carry me fast enough."
"Don't expect me to ride in it, Dicky."
"Why not?"
"Oh, Dicky, can you ask?"