The three had set out for a ride one afternoon, when, as they were dashing along at full tilt, Sir Simon pulled up with a strong formula of exclamation.
“What’s the matter?” cried Sir Ponsonby, plunging back heavily, while Franceline reined in Rosebud, and turned in some alarm to see what had occurred.
“If I have not actually forgotten all about Simpson, who comes down from London by appointment this afternoon! I dare say he’s waiting for me by this, and he must return by the 5:20. I must leave you, and post home as quick as Nero will carry me.” And with a “by-by” to Franceline and a nod to Capt. Anwyll, coupled with an injunction not to let her ride too fast and to keep her out of mischief, the baronet turned his horse’s head and galloped away, desiring the groom to follow on with the others.
They went on at a good pace until they reached the foot of a gentle ascent, when both of one accord fell into a walk. For the first time in their intercourse Franceline was conscious of a certain vague awkwardness with Capt. Anwyll; of casting about for something to say, and not finding anything. The place was perfectly solitary, the woods on one side, the fields sloping down to the river on the other. The groom lagged respectfully a long way behind, quite out of ear-shot, often out of sight; for the road curved and wheeled abruptly every now and then, and hid the foremost riders from his view. Ponsonby broke the silence:
“Miss Franceline”—he would call her Miss Franceline, because it was easier and shorter—“I have something on my mind that I want badly to say to you. I’ve been wanting to say it for some time. I hope it won’t make you angry?”
“I can’t say till I hear it; but if you are in doubt about it, perhaps it would be safer not to say it,” remarked Franceline, beginning to tremble ominously.
“I wouldn’t vex you for anything in the world! ’Pon my honor I wouldn’t!” protested Ponce warmly. “But, you see, I don’t know whether what I’m going to say will vex you or not.”
“Then don’t say it; you are sure not to vex me then,” was the encouraging advice, and she devoutly hoped he would take it. But he was not so minded.
“That’s true,” he assented; “but then, you see, it might please you. I’m half afraid it won’t, though, only I can’t be sure till I try.” After musing a moment, in obvious perplexity, he resumed, speaking rapidly, as if he had made up his mind to bolt it all out and take the consequences. “I’m not a puppy—my worst enemy won’t accuse me of that; but I’m not a bad fellow either, as my mother and all the fellows in the Tenth will tell you; and the fact is, I’ve grown very fond of you, Miss Franceline, and if you’ll take me as I am I’ll do my best to be a good husband to you and to make you happy.”
He said it quickly, as if he were reciting a lesson got by heart, and then came to a dead halt and “paused for a reply.” He might have paused long enough, if he had not at last turned round and read his fate in Franceline’s scared, white face and undisguised agitation.