We turned testily away from each other and I walked home alone.  When I reached our front door my father opened it and, seeing me in my white tulle dress, was beside himself with rage.  He asked me if I would kindly explain what I was doing, walking in the streets in my ball-dress at two in the morning.  I told him exactly what had happened and warned him soothingly never to buy an American trotter; he told me that my reputation was ruined, that his was also and that my behaviour would kill my mother; I put my arms round his neck, told him soothingly that I had not really enjoyed myself at all and promised him that I would never do it again.  By this time my mother had come out of her bedroom and was leaning over the staircase in her dressing-gown.  She said in a pleading voice: 

“Pray do not agitate yourself, Charlie.  You’ve done a very wrong action, Margot!  You really ought to have more consideration for your father:  no one knows how impressionable he is. ...  Please tell Mr. Flower that we do not approve of him at all! ...”

Margot:  “You are absolutely right, dear mamma, and that is exactly what I have said to him more than once.  But you need not worry, for no one saw us.  Let’s go to bed, darling, I’m dog-tired!”

Peter was thoroughly inconsequent about money and a great gambler; he told me one day in sorrow that his only chance of economising was to sell his horses and go to India to shoot big game, incidentally escaping his creditors.

When Peter went to India I was very unhappy, but to please my people I told them I would say good-bye and not write to him for a year, a promise which was faithfully kept.

While he was away, a young man of rank and fortune fell in love with me out hunting.  He never proposed, he only declared himself.  I liked him particularly, but his attention sat lightly on me; this rather nettled him and he told me one day riding home in the dark, that he was sure I must be in love with somebody else.  I said that it did not at all follow and that, if he were wise he would stop talking about love and go and buy himself some good horses for Leicestershire, where I was going in a week to hunt with Lord Manners.  We were staying together at Cholmondeley Castle, in Cheshire, with my beloved friend, Winifred Cholmondeley, [Footnote:  The Marchioness of Cholmondeley.] then Lady Rocksavage.  My new young man took my advice and went up to London, promising he would lend me “two of the best that money could buy” to take to Melton, where he proposed shortly to follow me.

When he arrived at Tattersalls there were several studs of well-known horses being sold:  Jack Trotter’s, Sir William Eden’s and Lord Lonsdale’s.  Among the latter was a famous hunter, called Jack Madden, which had once belonged to Peter Flower; and my friend determined he would buy it for me.  Some one said to him: 

“I don’t advise you to buy that horse, as you won’t be able to ride it!”