After lunch I wrote to Conny. I should like to see that letter now. I composed it as one of Johnson’s poets wrote poetry: “with an incessant ambition of wit;” mentioned that little affair with O’Twist, but made no further reference to Teazer’s treatment (holding that both she and her father would expect my silence); asked if I was missed, if there was anybody at Grove End who would particularly care to see me back again; diversified my pregnant sentimental “asides” with well laboured bursts of cynicism, and concluded four pages of close writing with a very eloquent, “Believe me,” &c.
As I addressed the envelope, Theresa came into the library, and asked me if I would ride with her.
“I should greatly enjoy a ride,” I answered, hardily; “but you mustn’t expect to find me a very good horseman. However, providing my horse doesn’t rear, I daresay I shall be able to hold on.”
“You shall have papa’s horse. He is very quiet.”
“I don’t think I could take a gate,” said I.
“Oh, we’ll keep to the main road.”
This being settled, she went to get on her habit. I was rather sorry I had no straps by me. I am aware that they are not much worn by riders; but depend upon it, they are very useful to incipient horsemen, since they prevent the trowsers from mounting up to the knees, should the horse grow at all distracted. Hat-guards are also valuable. Indeed, a bad rider ought to be sewn into his clothes; and it would not be sometimes amiss, if his clothes were also tacked on to the saddle.
In about ten minutes’ time Theresa was ready. The horses were brought by the groom to the door: and my cousin mounted with fine grace. I, like a blockhead, clambered up the wrong side; but though my uncle, as well as the groom and Teazer, was looking, nobody laughed; and I had, therefore, the satisfaction of believing I had acquitted myself well. To my great relief the animal, under my weight, stood as motionless as a clothes’-horse. Teazer’s, on the other hand, began to dance, like one of your trained brutes at a circus, when the band strikes up.
“Here’s a whip, sir,” said the groom. I jerked the reins, my uncle waved his hand, my horse broke into a trot (I into a perspiration), off went Teazer’s animal sideways, I watching the lateral beast with speechless anxiety, fearful every moment of running into him; we got out of the avenue into the high-road, and away we clattered—God help me!—under an Indian sun.
Teazer kept ahead of me for some ten minutes, her horse being very nettlesome and restive, and defying her restraint. I had settled into a good solid trot, was growing used to the motion, and had no wish to gallop. However, Teazer slackened her pace after a little, and fell into a walk, which I thought uncommonly safe and agreeable.