“Ten times greater,” moaned the honeyed Talboys; “for then we had not seen you.  Ah! my dear Miss Fountain—­ The devil! wo-ho, Goliah!”

For the pony spilled the treacle.  He lashed out both heels with a squeak of amazement within an inch of Mr. Talboys’ horse, which instantly began to rear, and plunge, and snort.  While Talboys, an excellent horseman, was calming his steed, Lucy was condoling with hers.  “Dear little naughty fellow!” said she, patting him ["I did it too hard"].

“As I was saying, the blessing we have never enjoyed we do not miss; but, now that you have shone upon us, what can reconcile us to lose you, unless it be the hope that—­ Hallo!”

Lucy.  “Ah!”

The pony was off with a bound like a buck.  She had found out the right depth of pin this time.  “Ah! where is my whip?  I have dropped it; how careless!” Then they had to ride back for the whip, and by this means joined Mr. Fountain.  Lucy rode by his side, and got the carriage between her and her beau.  By this plan she not only evaded sentiment, but matured by a series of secret trials her skill with her weapon.  Armed with this new science, she issued forth, and, whenever Mr. Talboys left off indifferent remarks and sounded her affections, she probed the pony, and he kicked or bolted as the case might require.

“Confound that pony!” cried Talboys; “he used to be quiet enough.”

“Oh, don’t scold him, dear, playful little love.  He carries me like a wave.”

At this simple sentence Talboys’ dormant jealousy contrived to revive.  He turned sulky, and would not waste any more tenderness, and presently they rattled over the stones of Royston.  Lucy commended her pony with peculiar earnestness to the ostler.  “Pray groom him well, and feed him well, sir; he is a love.”  The ostler swore he would not wrong her ladyship’s nag for the world.

Lucy then expressed her desire to go forward without delay:  “Aunt will expect me.”  She took her seat in the carriage, bade a kind farewell to both the gentlemen now that no tender answer was possible, and was whirled away.

Thus the coy virgin eluded the pair.

Now her manner in taking leave of Talboys was so kind, so smiling (in the sweet consciousness of having baffled him), that Fountain felt sure it all had gone smoothly.  They were engaged.

“Well?” he cried, with great animation.

“No,” was the despondent reply.

“Refused?” screeched the other; “impossible!”

“No, thank you,” was the haughty reply.

“What then?  Did you change your mind?  Didn’t you propose after all?”

“I couldn’t. That d—­d pony wouldn’t keep still.”

Fountain groaned.