In order to prevent this the campaigner had specially called at the parsonage and taken Miss Lizzie in her own pony chaise with her: the Reverend Herbert and the languid Laura completed the quartette. Tom sadly deplored the absence of Markworth, for he was so well used to the campaigner, and had such nerve and _sang froid_ that he was capable of even turning her out of her own carriage. Lieutenant Harrowby and Captain Miles, too, of Tom's regiment, who had come over from Brighton that morning for the _fete_, and who hoped to have complete possession of the Inskip "girls," as military men usually dub the young ladies of families, did not seem satisfied with the arrangements for the procession; and as for Captain Curry Cucumber--who had arrived on the scene of action dressed in a new pair of nankeen trowsers and a solar hat, not to mention a blue coat with brass buttons and other portions of a perfectly gorgeous toilet--he was simply enraged at the want of deference paid him by Lady Inskip, and had serious thoughts of turning back at first, although he afterwards suffered himself to be soothed over by Miss Blandish (spinster, _aetat_ 45-60), and promised to remain with the company until at least "tiffin" should be over. At last, however, all things were settled, and "barring" a few _contretemps_ and heartburnings the whole party started off in great spirit to drive towards Dingle Dell. The road was a very pretty one, all through the romantic scenery to be found in the valley of the swift-running and widening river Biggle, at the mouth of which, as has been described in its proper place, the watering place of Bigton, formerly called Biggleton (_vide_ County Archaeology), was situated. The day was fine--as fine as a bright August day can be in the country. _Ergo_ all went merry as the proverbial marriage bell. The only trouble Lady Inskip had was with her darling pride--that horrible boy, the young Sir Mortimer. He would insist on carrying a wretched old single-barrel gun with him for the purpose of shooting small birds when they got to the wood, and of course, as he always managed, he had his own way. "Such a darling boy," as he was, "but _so_ rash!" Mortimer persisted in practising along the road as they drove on, frightening the horses every now and then, and making everybody feel in terror for their lives. It was no use that Lady Inskip called out in a half-entreating, half-commanding voice at intervals, "Oh! Morti-mer! Mortimer!" the young imp would continue his detonating sport, and everyone was heartily glad when after passing the steep incline which led down from the old castle of archaeological renown, they crossed the pretty rustic bridge over the Biggle, and arrived at length at Dingle Dell.