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shake of her head. She was young enough to feel embarrassment at broad compliments, but she betrayed none: plainly, she was accustomed to being very much admired, although the coming London Season, as she presently confided to the Earl, was to be her first. ‘For one does not count private parties, and although I was almost seventeen last spring, Mama could not be prevailed upon to present me, though even my Aunt Caroline, who is so strict and stuffy, counselled her most strongly to do so. However, this year I am to be presented, and I shall go to Almack’s, and the Opera, and everywhere !’
    The Earl, concluding from this artless prattle that Miss Bolderwood moved in unexceptionable circles, began to wonder why no mention of her family had been made to him by his stepmother. In all her consequential enumerations of the persons likely to leave their cards at Stanyon he could not recall ever to have heard her utter the name of Bolderwood. But as he led Cloud into the village through which they were obliged to pass on their way to Whissenhurst Grange, an inkling of the cause of this omission was conveyed to him by an unexpected encounter with his half-brother.
    Martin, who was hacking towards them in the company of a young gentleman who sported a striped waistcoat, and a Belcher tie, no sooner perceived who was the fair burden upon Cloud’s back than he spurred up, an expression on his brow both of astonishment and anger. ‘Marianne!’ he exclaimed. ‘What’s this? How comes this about? What in thunder are you doing on St Erth’s horse?’
    ‘Why, that odious Fairy of mine, having thrown me into the mire, would not allow me to catch her!’ responded Marianne merrily. ‘Had it not been for Lord St Erth’s chivalry I must still be seated miserably by the wayside, or perhaps plodding along this very dirty road!’
    ‘I wish I had been there!’ Martin said.
    ‘I wish I had been there!’ gallantly echoed his companion.
    ‘I am very glad you were not, for to be seen tumbling off my horse could not at all add to my consequence! Oh, Lord St Erth, are you acquainted with Mr Warboys?’
    Martin, interrupting the exchange of civilities between his friend and his brother, said: ‘You might have been killed! I do not know what Lady Bolderwood will say! You must let me escort you home!’ He seemed to become aware of the fatuity of this utterance, and added awkwardly, and with a rising colour: ‘You will wish to be going on your way, St Erth!’
    ‘I am going on my way,’ replied the Earl, who was looking amused. ‘I must tell you, Martin, that I find you very much de trop !’
    ‘By Jove, yes!’ agreed Mr Warboys, with even more gallant intention. ‘Anyone would! Would myself!’ He encountered a fiery glance from Martin, which flustered him, and added hastily: ‘That is to say – what I meant was, that’s a devilish good-looking hunter you have there, St Erth! Great rump and hocks! Splendid shoulders! Not an inch above fifteen-three, I’ll swear! The very thing for this country!’
    ‘Oh, he is the loveliest creature!’ Marianne said, patting Cloud’s neck. ‘He makes no objection to carrying me in this absurd fashion: I am sure he must be the best-mannered horse in the world!’
    ‘My Troubadour would carry you as well!’ Martin muttered.
    Mr Warboys was moved to contradict this statement. ‘No, he wouldn’t. Wouldn’t carry her as well as my Old Soldier! Got a tricky temper, that tit of yours.’
    ‘He is better-paced than that screw of yours !’ retorted Martin, firing up in defence of his horse.
    ‘Old Soldier,’ said Mr Warboys obstinately, ‘would give her a comfortable ride.’
    ‘You must be besotted to think so!’
    ‘No, I ain’t. Old Soldier has often carried m’sister. Your Troubadour has never had a female on his back.’
    ‘That can soon be mended!’
    ‘I wonder,’ said the Earl diffidently, ‘if you would think it rude in us to be proceeding on our way while you thrash the