"Davies," she called loudly, "bring your lantern. I am going through.... Don't bother me any more about all that, Mr. Marsden. Make your own selections—and get them passed by Mr. Mears. Good-night."
V
Miss Enid had again taken up riding, and she seemed unusually energetic in her efforts to acquire a difficult art. During this hot dry weather the roads were too hard to permit of hacking with much pleasure; but Enid spent many afternoons in Mr. Young's fine riding school. She was having jumping lessons; and she threw out hints to Mrs. Thompson that next autumn she would be able not only to ride to meet, but even to follow hounds.
"Oh, my darling, I should never have a moment's peace of mind if I knew you were risking your pretty neck out hunting."
"I could easily get a good pilot," said Enid; "and then I should be quite safe."
One Thursday afternoon—early-closing day—Mr. Marsden, who happened to know that Enid would be at the school, went round to see his friend Mr. Whitehouse, the riding-master. He looked very smart in his blue serge suit, straw hat, and brown boots; and the clerk in Mr. Young's office quite thought he was one of the governor's toffs come to buy horses.
Mr. Marsden sent his card to Mr. Whitehouse; and then waited in a sloping sanded passage, obviously trodden by four-footed as well as two-footed people, from which he could peep into the dark office, a darker little dressing-room, and an open stable where the hind quarters of horses showed in stalls. There was a queer staircase without stairs, and he heard a sound of pawing over his head—horses upstairs as well as downstairs. The whole place looked and smelt very horsey.
The riding-master's horse was presently led past him; the lesson was nearly over, and the young lady was about to take a few leaps. A groom told him that he might go in.