Now Mr. George Uplift, who usually rode in buckskins whether he was after the fox or fresh air, was out on this particular morning; and it happened that, as the cavalcade wound beneath the down, Mr. George trotted along the ridge.  He was a fat-faced, rotund young squire—­a bully where he might be, and an obedient creature enough where he must be—­good-humoured when not interfered with; fond of the table, and brimful of all the jokes of the county, the accent of which just seasoned his speech.  He had somehow plunged into a sort of half-engagement with Miss Carrington.  At his age, and to ladies of Miss Carrington’s age, men unhappily do not plunge head-foremost, or Miss Carrington would have had him long before.  But he was at least in for it half a leg; and a desperate maiden, on the criminal side of thirty, may make much of that.  Previous to the visit of the Countess de Saldar, Mr. George had been in the habit of trotting over to Beckley three or four times a week.  Miss Carrington had a little money:  Mr. George was heir to his uncle.  Miss Carrington was lean and blue-eyed.

Mr. George was black-eyed and obese.  By everybody, except Mr. George, the match was made:  but that exception goes for little in the country, where half the population are talked into marriage, and gossips entirely devote themselves to continuing the species.  Mr. George was certain that he had not been fighting shy of the fair Carrington of late, nor had he been unfaithful.  He had only been in an extraordinary state of occupation.  Messages for Lady Racial had to be delivered, and he had become her cavalier and escort suddenly.  The young squire was bewildered; but as he was only one leg in love—­if the sentiment may be thus spoken of figuratively—­his vanity in his present office kept him from remorse or uneasiness.

He rode at an easy pace within sight of the home of his treasure, and his back turned to it.  Presently there rose a cry from below.  Mr. George looked about.  The party of horsemen hallooed:  Mr. George yoicked.  Rose set her horse to gallop up; Seymour Jocelyn cried ‘fox,’ and gave the view; hearing which Mr. George shouted, and seemed inclined to surrender; but the fun seized him, and, standing up in his stirrups, he gathered his coat-tails in a bunch, and waggled them with a jolly laugh, which was taken up below, and the clamp of hoofs resounded on the turf as Mr. George led off, after once more, with a jocose twist in his seat, showing them the brush mockingly.  Away went fox, and a mad chase began.  Seymour acted as master of the hunt.  Rose, Evan, Drummond, and Mrs. Evremonde and Dorothy, skirted to the right, all laughing, and full of excitement.  Harry bellowed the direction from above.  The ladies in the carriage, with Lady Jocelyn and Andrew, watched them till they flowed one and all over the shoulder of the down.

‘And who may the poor hunted animal be?’ inquired the Countess.

‘George Uplift,’ said Lady Jocelyn, pulling out her watch.  ’I give him twenty minutes.’