The earl clucked to Madge.  Her gaze at the ring was a sullen intensity.

Will you believe it?—­Ben received a second spanking cracker on the spectacles-seat:  neat indeed; and, poor payment for the compliment, he managed to dig a drive at the ribs.  As much of that game as may suit you, sturdy Ben!  But hear the shout, and behold!

First blood to Kit Ines!  That tell-tale nose of old Ben’s has mounted the Earl of Fleetwood’s colours, and all his party are looking Brailstone-blue.

‘So far!’ said Fleetwood.  His grooms took an indication:  the hamper was unfastened; sandwiches were handed.  Carinthia held one; she tried to nibble, in obedience to her husband’s example.  Madge refused a bite of food.

Hearing Carinthia say to her:  ’I hope he will not be beaten, I hope, I hope,’ she made answer:  ‘You are very good, Miss’; and the young lady flushed.

Gentlemen below were talking up to the earl.  A Kentish squire of an estate neighbouring Esslemont introduced a Welsh squire he had driven to see the fun, by the name of Mr. Owain Wythan, a neighbour of the earl’s down in Wales.  Refreshments were offered.  Carinthia submissively sipped the sparkling wine, which stings the lips when they are indisposed to it.  The voice of the girl Madge rang on the tightened chords of her breast.  Madge had said she was praying:  and to pray was all that could be done by two women.  Her husband could laugh loudly with Mr. Potts and the other gentlemen and the strangers.  He was quite sure the man he supported would win; he might have means of knowing.  Carinthia clung to his bare words, for the sake of the girl.

A roaring peal went up from the circle of combat.  Kit had it this time.  Attacking Ben’s peepers, he was bent on defending his own, and he caught a bodyblow that sent him hopping back to his pair of seconds, five clear hops to the rear, like a smashed surge-wave off the rock.  He was respectful for the remainder of the round.  But hammering at the system he had formed, in the very next round he dropped from a tremendous repetition of the blow, and lay flat as a turbot.  The bets against him had simultaneously a see-saw rise.

‘Bellows, he appears to have none,’ was the comment of Chumley Potts.

‘Now for training, Chummy!’ said Lord Fleetwood.

‘Chummy!’ signifying a crow over Potts, rang out of the hollows of Captain Abrane on Lord Brailstone’s coach.

Carinthia put a hand behind her to Madge.  It was grasped, in gratitude for sympathy or in feminine politeness.  The girl murmured:  ’I’ve seen worse.’  She was not speaking to ears.

Lord Fleetwood sat watch in hand.  ‘Up,’ he said; and, as if hearing him, Kit rose from the ministering second’s knee.  He walked stiffly, squared after the fashion of a man taught caution.  Ben made play.  They rounded the ring, giving and taking.  Ben rushed, and had an emollient; spouted again and was corked; again, and received a neat red-waxen stopper.  He would not be denied at Kit’s door, found him at home and hugged him.  Kit got himself to grass, after a spell of heavy fibbing, Ben’s game.