“Oh, I think he goes very well, uncle; his seat is capital; it is only his hands that are a bit heavy; but then he has had very little practice.”

“Tut—­tut, don’t talk to me, child; he is no horseman.  He may be a good young man in his way, but what can have made you take a fancy to a fellow who can’t ride is a mystery to me!  Now tell me the whole story, Pussy.”

And then Beatrice made a clean breast of it.

“I will see if I can help you,” said her uncle, seriously, when she had finished her story; “but I can’t think how you can have set your heart upon a fellow who can’t ride!”

This was evidently a far more fatal error in Tom Esterworth’s eyes than the other matter of her being shut up in Mr. Pryme’s rooms.  Beatrice began to think she had not done anything so very terrible after all.

“I must turn it over in my mind.  Now come and eat your mutton-chop, Pussy, and when we have finished our lunch, you shall come out with me in the dog-cart.  I am going to put Clochette into harness for the first time.”

“Will she go quietly?”

“Like a lamb, I should say.  You won’t be nervous?”

“Dear, no!  I am never nervous; I shall enjoy the fun.”

The mutton-chop over, Clochette and the dog-cart came round to the door.  She was a raking, bright chestnut mare, with a coat like satin.  Even as she stood at the door she chafed somewhat at her new position between the shafts.  This, however, was no more than might have been expected.  Mr. Esterworth declining the company of the groom, helped his niece up and took the reins.

“We will go round by Tripton and back by the common,” he said, “and talk this matter well over, Pussy; we shall enjoy ourselves much better with nobody in the back seat.  A man sits there with his arms crossed and his face like a blank sheet of paper, but one never knows how much they hear, and their ears are always cocked, like a terrier’s on the scent of a rat.”

Clochette went off from the door with a bound, but soon settled down into a good swinging trot.  She kept turning her head nervously from side to side, and there was evidently a little uncertainty in her mind as to whether she should keep to the drive, or deviate on to the grass by the side of it; but, upon the whole, she behaved fairly well, and turned out of the lodge gates into the high road with perfect docility and good breeding.

There was a whole avalanche of dogs in attendance.  A collie, rushing on tumultuously in front; a “plum-pudding” dog between the wheels; a couple of fox-terriers snapping joyfully at each other in the rear; and there was also an ill-conditioned animal—­half lurcher, half terrier—­who killed cats, and murdered fowls, and worried sheep, and flew at the heels of unwary strangers; and was given, in short, to every sort of canine iniquity, and who possessed but one redeeming feature in his character—­that of blind adoration to his master.