And when he laughingly hoped “he should be covered with medals next time they met,” uncoquettish Lady Geraldine looked a moment in his face with a glance he could not misunderstand, while a large, unavoidable tear fell on her hand.  To capture and press it tenderly was but obeying a remorseful impulse.  Geraldine immediately became composed, and her sensitive face brightened.  The embarrassment that had left her seemed to have passed into Harry, who felt the greatest relief when a flutter of skirts and general rising betokened that the ladies were about to retire.

But the little incident had forced resolution on Dutton’s vacillating mind.  “That settles it,” he soliloquised.  “She is far too nice to be deceived.  I know Kate won’t let me off to-morrow, but I will have it out with my uncle directly I come back, and go to London by the 8.30.”

CHAPTER XXXIII.

LORD BROMLEY INTERVIEWS DUTTON.

Ere long a challenge and a cheer
Came floating down the wind;
’Twas Mermaid’s note, and the huntsman’s voice
We knew it was a find. 
The dull air woke us from a trance
As sixty hounds joined chorus,
And away we went, with a stout dog fox
Not a furlong’s length before us. 
—­Lawrence.

Nearly every one was going by a late train the following day, intending to hunt in the morning; for it was a favourite meet in some of the best country of ——­shire.  Kate was the only fair equestrian, and Harry was to escort her.

There was one old hunter in the stables who loyally carried the young man without taking advantage of his maladroitness.  Kate always insisted, when he accompanied her, on his being committed—­I may say to the care of this faithful equine, who knew its business far better than its rider, and, if it did not lead him to glory, at least avoided disgrace.

Whatever she might have felt about the approaching departure of Colonel Dashwood certainly did not appear, for Kate was in glorious spirits,—­her pretty figure, always well on horseback, set off still more by the elastic action of her beautiful dark chestnut.

Where is the thorough-bred without “opinions?”—­and when of that excitable colour, you may generally reckon on a handful!  “Childe Harold” was vexed at galloping on a different strip of turf to his companions, and delivered himself of seven buck-jumps successively.  Kate, quite at her ease, was repressing his efforts to get his head down, with the same smile on her face that some absurdity of Harry’s had provoked; but just as she began to tire a bit, and fancy her hat was loosening, “Childe Harold,” who might then, perhaps, have had one conquering buck, as suddenly gave it up, in the fatuous way a horse will, when he is nearest success, if he only knew it.

“Two or three of those would have settled me,” said Harry, good-humouredly coming to her side.  “What an ass a fellow looks who can’t ride!”