"Isn't Mr. Silver our sort?" she asked at last, her eyes on her mother's. Mrs. Woodburn, for all her liberal mind, was of the older generation. "My dear," she said, "he's an Eton man." "He's not like one," replied the girl shortly. "He's a gentleman." "My dear, Eton men are gentlemen," reproved Mrs. Woodburn. "Some," replied the girl. "The Duke is." She added maliciously--"Sometimes." * * * * * Old Mat, Monkey Brand, and Albert started early for the meet. It was a long hour later before mother and daughter, waiting in the parlour, heard the steady clop-clop of a horse's feet and the crisp trundle of wheels on the road. In another moment the buggy had drawn up at the gate; Goosey Gander was stretching his neck, and Jerry of the corrugated brow was touching his hat to the descending passenger. A tall, top-hatted figure, enfolded in long, shaggy gray frieze coat, came up the paved yard toward them between clouds of arabis. Silver had changed in the train on the way down. He was booted, spurred, and above all radiant. Mrs. Woodburn went out on to the steps to meet him. The girl hid her hair behind her mother's stately figure. "So you've managed it!" smiled Mrs. Woodburn. "I was determined not to miss it," replied the young man, striding up the steps stiff in his top-boots. "Miss Woodburn, congratulations." "Who told you?" cried Boy, taken aback. "Billy Bluff, of course," replied the other. "Caddish of him, wasn't it?" They went into the parlour. Mrs. Woodburn did not offer the traveller a drink for the simple reason that it never occurred to her to do so. "By Jove! I _am_ late!" cried the young man, glancing at the clock. "There was a break-down at Hayward's Heath." He stripped off his ulster, and stood up in his pink coat, his baggy white breeches, and top-boots. In Boy Woodburn's judgment most men, so attired, looked supremely ridiculous. It was not so with Mr. Silver. It may be that his absolute lack of self-consciousness distracted attention from his costume. It may be that he was so real himself that he dominated his artificial habiliments. Certainly his strong, clean face, his short, crisp hair, and pleasant, booming voice possessed and pleased the girl. "You'd better be off, or you'll have the Duke down on you," said Mrs. Woodburn. "Dad's gone an hour since," said Boy. She led the way swiftly down long stone passages out into the yard. He followed, his eyes on that shining bunch of hair before him. The yard looked deserted. The fan-tails strutted vaingloriously; Maudie lay in the sun on the stable wall; and Billy Bluff's kennel was empty. "Hullo, where's Bill?" cried the young man. "Some idiot's let him off his chain," grumbled the girl. "Just like them. A hunting morning."