“Pretty—fairish—tolerable. That is, I can ride.”
“Ah! I see—want of practice merely—eh?”
“Just so.”
“Well then, it’s a lucky thing that I’ve seen you. I have just the sort of animal you want—a regular-bred horse, sound as a roach, quiet as a lamb, and quite up to the cavalry movements. Masaniello will suit your weight to an ounce, and you shall have him for seventy guineas.”
“That’s a very long price, Roper!”
“For Masaniello? I assure you he’s as cheap as dirt. I would not sell him for twice the sum: only, you see, we are limited in our number, and my father insists upon my keeping other two which he bred himself. If you like to enter Masaniello for the races, I’ll ensure your winning the cup.”
“Oh do, Mr M’Whirter, take Mr Roper’s advice!” said Edith. “Masaniello is such a pretty creature, and so quiet! And then, after the week is over, you know you can come and ride with us.”
“Won’t you take sixty, Roper?”
“Not a penny less than seventy,” replied the dragoon.
“Well, then, I shall take him at that. Pounds?”