‘Indeed, Mrs. Dulcimer, Tina never had any chance with Captain Standish. He is not a marrying man. I have heard him say as much.’ ‘Oh, my dear, they all say that, and even think it until they are caught. It doesn’t make the slightest difference. I am sure he admired your sister, and it would have been such a splendid match for her, and so nice for you to have had such aristocratic connections. Lady Emmeline would have been your--something in-law. And now you have spoiled it all by inviting Miss Porkman.’ ‘I wanted some one to ride with me,’ said Bella. ‘Clementina can’t ride, and hasn’t a horse.’ ‘Well, it is a great pity. Everybody says that Captain Standish is in love with Miss Porkman.’ Bella knew that Mrs. Dulcimer’s everybody usually meant herself and Rebecca. And now the time drew near for Bella to try her fortune in the hunting-field. She sounded Miss Porkman, and found that young lady eager for anything fast and furious. Vanessa had never hunted--Mr. Porkman objecting to ladies in the field just as strongly as Mr. Piper. But she was quite ready to hazard the paternal anger, supposing it impossible to have a day’s sport without her father coming to hear of it. ‘He has never actually forbidden us to hunt,’ said Vanessa, ‘but I know he doesn’t like ladies riding to hounds. I’ve heard him say so very often. However, he won’t know anything about it till it’s all over, and when he does hear of it I must weather the storm somehow.’ Vanessa had weathered a good many paternal tempests since she had emerged from the nursery, stormy winds blown up by milliner’s bills, hurricanes provoked by too reckless flirtations, and divers other meteorological disturbances of a domestic nature. A storm, more or less, in Vanessa’s opinion made no difference. Captain Standish rode the black to hounds, and pronounced him perfect. ‘There’s to be a grand meet next Thursday morning at Milvey Bridge, and we must all go,’ he said, to Bella. ‘You can tell Piper you are going to see the hounds throw off.’ CHAPTER XVIII. OPENING HIS EYES. WHILE Bella had been indulging in archery, dinner-giving, riding, and other expensive amusements, her husband’s old friend and servant, Samuel Chumney, had returned from his fortnight’s holiday, and had taken his place among those insignificant and unvalued guests whom the mistress of the Park regarded rather as lookers on, or as a kind of human furniture, than as actual participators in her gaieties and pleasures. On her Thursday afternoons Mrs. Piper tolerated Chumney, as a necessary evil. His old-fashioned shirt-collars were ridiculous, but harmless. He was quiet, and was therefore much less vulgar than the prosperous Porkman or the millionaire Timperley. So, as it pleased Mr. Piper to have him there, Bella endured his presence without further complaint.