They were both out the Monday and Tuesday in that week, and then again on the Thursday without anything special in the way of sport.  Lord Chiltern, who had found Silverbridge to be a young man after his own heart, was anxious that he should come back to Harrington and bring Tregear with him.  But to this Tregear would not assent, alleging that he should feel himself to be a burden both to Lord and Lady Chiltern.  On the Friday Tregear did not go out, saying that he would avoid the expense, and on that day there was a good run.  ‘It is always the way,’ said Silverbridge.  ’If you miss a day, it is sure to be the best thing of the season.  An hour and a quarter with hardly anything you could call a check!  It is the only very good thing I have seen since I have been here.  Mrs Spooner was with them all through.’

‘And I suppose you were with Mrs Spooner.’

‘I wasn’t far off.  I wish you had been there.’

On the next day the meet was at the kennels, close to Harrington, and Silverbridge drove his friend over in a gig.  The Master and Lady Chiltern, Spooner and Mrs Spooner, Maule, and Mrs Maule, Phineas Finn, and host of others condoled with the unfortunate young man because he had not seen the good thing yesterday.  ’We’ve had it a little faster once or twice,’ said Mrs Spooner with deliberation, ’but never for so long.  Then it was straight as a line, and a real open kill.  No changing you know.  We did go through the Daisies, but I’ll swear to its being the same fox.’  All of which set Tregear wondering.  How could she swear to her fox?  And if they had changed, what did it matter?  And if it had been a little crooked, why would it have been less enjoyable?  And was she really so exact a judge of pace as she pretended to be?  ‘I’m afraid we shan’t have anything like that today,’ she continued.  ’The wind’s in the west, and I never do like a westerly wind.’

‘A little to the north,’ said her husband, looking round the compass.

‘My dear,’ said the lady, ’you never know where the wind comes from.  Now don’t you think of taking off your comforter, I won’t have it.’

Tregear was riding his friend’s favourite hunter, a thoroughbred bay horse, very much more than up to his rider’s weight, and supposed to be peculiarly good at timber, water, or any well-defined kind of fence, however high or broad.  They found a covert near the kennels, and killed their fox after a burst of a few minutes.  They found again, and having lost their fox, all declared that there was not a yard of scent.  ’I always know what a west wind means,’ said Mrs Spooner.