The others drew the rein, and left him to gallop alone.  Accordingly, he made the round of the hill and came back, his horse covered with lather and its tail trembling.  “There,” said he to Lucy, with an air of radiant self-satisfaction, “he clapped on sail without orders from quarter-deck, so I made him carry it till his bows were under water.”

“You will kill my uncle’s horse,” was the reply, in a chilling tone.

“Heaven forbid!”

“Look at its poor flank beating.”

David hung his head like a school-girl rebuked.  “But why did he clap on sail if he could not carry it?” inquired he, ruefully, of his monitress.

The others burst out laughing; but Lucy remained grave and silent.

David rode along crestfallen.

Mrs. Bazalgette brought her pony close to him, and whispered, “Never mind that little cross-patch. She does not care a pin about the horse; you interrupted her flirtation, that is all.”

This piece of consolation soothed David like a bunch of
stinging-nettles.

While Mrs. Bazalgette was consoling David with thorns, Kenealy and
Talboys were quizzing his figure on horseback.

He sat bent like a bow and visibly sticking on:  item, he had no straps, and his trousers rucked up half-way to his knee.

Lucy’s attention being slyly drawn to these phenomena by David’s friend Talboys, she smiled politely, though somewhat constrainedly; but the gentlemen found it a source of infinite amusement during the whole ride, which, by the way, was not a very long one, for Miss Fountain soon expressed a wish to turn homeward.  David felt guilty, he scarce knew why.

The promised happiness was wormwood.  On dismounting, she went to the lawn to tend her flowers.  David followed her, and said bitterly, “I am sorry I came to spoil your pleasure.”

Miss Fountain made no answer.

“I thought I might have one ride with you, when others have so many.”

“Why, of course, Mr. Dodd.  If you like to expose yourself to ridicule, it is no affair of mine.”  The lady’s manner was a happy mixture of frigidity and crossness.  David stood benumbed, and Lucy, having emptied her flower-pot, glided indoors without taking any farther notice of him.

David stood rooted to the spot.  Then he gave a heavy sigh, and went and leaned against one of the pillars of the portico, and everything seemed to swim before his eyes.

Presently he heard a female voice inquire, “Is Miss Lucy at home?” He looked, and there was a tall, strapping woman in conference with Henry.  She had on a large bonnet with flaunting ribbons, and a bushy cap infuriated by red flowers.  Henry’s eye fell upon these embellishments:  “Not at home,” chanted he, sonorously.

“Eh, dear,” said the woman sadly, “I have come a long way to see her.”

“Not at home, ma’am,” repeated Henry, like a vocal machine.