“I’m sure you’re fifty times as handsome as Mr. D’Almayne,” was Alice’s eager rejoinder; “but” she continued reflectively “if you are not afraid of your good looks, why are you so horrified at the idea of growing fat?” Harry coloured slightly, and tried to evade the question; but his wife’s curiosity, being by this time excited, was not so easily baffled, and Coverdale had nothing for it but to confess the truth, which he did thus:-- “Well, if you must know, little wife, I’ve a bay colt by Fencer out of a Harkaway mare, and a chesnut filly by Hercules out of Bulfinch, both rising five (I refused 600 guineas for the pair of ’em a year ago), which I expect to do most of my work next hunting season; but as they’re both young unmade horses, I would not ride over twelve stone for anything; nothing cows a young horse more than overweighting him at starting.” “Oh, Harry!” exclaimed Alice reproachfully, “I thought you meant to give up hunting now--I’m sure you said so when you were----, that is, before we were married. Why, you would be away from me more than half the day every time you went out! besides, it’s so dangerous! Oh, no; you may go shooting sometimes, and I can ride a pony and mark for you, as I used to do with papa and Arthur, but you must not hunt.” “And can’t you ride and see the hounds throw off, darling? It’s one of the prettiest sights in the world. The first thing I mean to do when we get back, is to buy you a perfect lady’s horse; something rather different from that brute poor old Crane gave you.” “Then you won’t promise to give up hunting, you naughty boy--not even when I ask you to do so to please me?” And, confident in her own power, the young wife cast a look, half-imploring, half-commanding, on her lord and master, which he would have found it no easy matter to resist to a degree which should vindicate his right to such a title, when the opportune entrance of the valet, with a packet of letters, extricated him from his dilemma. “A note from Madame de Beauville, containing an invitation to the picnic!--how delightful!” exclaimed Alice, appealing for sympathy to her better half; but he was engaged in perusing the following epistle, which, owing to the peculiarities both of diction, writing, and spelling, it was not too easy to decypher:--