“Bravo! Capital! We’ll make a first-rate horse-woman of her by-and-by. She’ll cut out every girl in the county one of these days. And pray who gave you leave to assume the duties of riding-master without consulting me, sir?”
This was to Clide, who had sprung off his horse to set something right in his pupil’s saddle and adjust the folds of her habit, which had nothing amiss that any one else could see.
“They told me you were engaged, so I did not like to disturb you,” he explained.
“I should very much like to know who told you so,” said Sir Simon, with offensive incredulity.
“My respected uncle is the offender, if offence there be; but now that you are disengaged, perhaps you would like to take a canter with us. I’ll go round and order your horse?”
“No, you sha’n’t. I don’t choose to be taken up second-hand in that fashion; you’ll be good enough to walk off to The Lilies, and tell the count I have something very particular to say to him, and I’ll take it as a favor if he’ll come up at once.”
Clide turned his horse’s head in the direction indicated.
“No, no; you’ll get down and walk there,” said Sir Simon. “If he sees you on horseback, he may suspect something, and that would spoil the fun.” The young man alighted, and gave his bridle to be held.
“I don’t see why I shouldn’t hold it in the saddle,” said the baronet after a moment; “and we will take a turn while we’re waiting.” He vaulted into Clide’s vacant seat with the agility of a younger man.
“Well, a pleasant ride to you both!” said Mr. Langrove, moving away. “You do your master credit, Franceline, whoever he is; and the exercise has given you a fine color too,” he added, nodding kindly to her.