purveyor,—­ and bought a commission for him twenty-five years ago.  Everybody knew him but nobody knew anything about, him.  Poor old Caneback!  I wish he had managed to die anywhere else and I don’t feel at all obliged to Purefoy for sending that brute of a mare here.  He said something to me about that wretched ball;—­not altogether so wretched! was it?  But I didn’t like what he said and told him a bit of my mind.  Now we’re two for a while; and I don’t care for how long unless he comes round.

I cannot stand a funeral and I shall get away from this.  I will pay the bill and Purefoy may do the rest.  I’m going for Christmas to Surbiton’s near Melton with a string of horses.  Surbiton is a bachelor, and as there will be no young ladies to interfere with me I shall have the more time to think of you.  We shall have a little play there instead.  I don’t know whether it isn’t the better of the two, as if one does get sat upon, one doesn’t feel so confoundedly sheep-faced.  I have been out with the hounds two or three times since you went, as I could do no good staying with that poor fellow and there was a time when we thought he would have pulled through.  I rode Jack one day, but he didn’t carry me as well as he did you.  I think he’s more of a lady’s horse.  If I go to Mistletoe I shall have some horses somewhere in the neighbourhood and I’ll make them take Jack, so that you may have a chance.

I never know how to sign myself to young ladies.  Suppose I say that
I am yours,
                       Anything you like best,
                                 R.

This was a much nicer letter than Arabella had expected, as there were one or two touches in it, apart from the dead man and the horses, which she thought might lead to something,—­and there was a tone in the letter which seemed to show that he was given to correspondence.  She took care to answer it so that he should get her letter on his arrival at Mr. Surbiton’s house.  She found out Mr. Surbiton’s address, and then gave a great deal of time to her letter.

Letter No. 2.

Murray’s Hotel, Green Street,
Thursday.

My Dear Lord Rufford,

As we are passing through London on our way from one purgatory with the Gores to another purgatory with old Lady De Browne, and as mamma is asleep in her chair opposite, and as I have nothing else on earth to do, I think I might as well answer your letter.  Poor old Major!  I am sorry for him, because he rode so bravely.  I shall never forget his face as he passed us, and again as he rose upon his knee when that horrid blow came!  How very odd that he should have been like that, without any friends.  What a terrible nuisance to you!  I think you were quite wise to come away.  I am sure I should have done so.  I can’t conceive what right Sir John Purefoy can have had to say anything, for after all it was his doing.  Do you remember when you talked of my riding Jemima?  When I think of it I can hardly hold myself for shuddering.