Far from being set on one side, Betty was an influential personage, and her aunt’s domestic viceroy and right hand. She had not been visible at the tea-table, simply because she never partook of afternoon tea. Her Uncle Brian had called it “a kitchen-maid’s custom,” and she liked being out of doors until it was almost dark. At present she spent all her afternoons with Miss Dopping, who had been laid up with a bad cold ever since her visit to Noone, and Mrs. Redmond gladly spared her niece, for two reasons; firstly, because she did not want her; secondly, because she had her weather-eye fixed on Miss Dopping’s money bags. The old lady was fond of Betty, was as wealthy as she was eccentric, and had no near kin. If Betty became a rich heiress, it would be a capital thing for Belle! CHAPTER VII. ONLY JONES. “Some griefs are med’cinable.” --CYMBELINE. George Holroyd had fain to be content with the Ballingoole Harriers, instead of the Ward-Union and Meath hounds; his poverty but not his will consented to this pitiable change. However, even Harriers must be followed on horseback, and up to the present, although the Major had been making constant enquiries among his own immediate connections, and many sporting friends, no suitable steed was secured. A large number of the blind, the maimed, the halt, had been forthcoming, had been submitted for inspection, each and all a dead bargain, each sold as a personal favour to George, and for _no_ fault, so the Major expressively stated upon what he was pleased to call “his sacred word of honour.” George, who rode well, and recognised a decent horse when he saw it, at last grew tired of this farce, and said: “I always thought that Ireland was the country for good horses. Where are they? I never saw such a set of old screws--that one,” pointing to a discarded charger, “is like an old hair trunk, and has not a tooth in his head. My bump of veneration would forbid my getting on his back.” “If you will go to a couple of hundred guineas,” said the Major (who loved not his step-son), “I’ll engage to get you a flyer--a chaser.” “Thanks--but sixty is my limit, and as I am a light-weight I ought to be able to pick up something that will carry me for a couple of months.” “There was that bay horse of Cooney’s--he is cheap enough! You tried him one day with the Harriers.” “Yes, but I don’t care about an animal that expects you to carry his head home, after a very mild day’s sport.” “Well, I believe I know of one, but he is a good way off, that won’t ask you to carry _his_ head, but that takes it and mostly keeps it. Maybe, he will please you,” said the Major huffily; “he belongs to a tenant of me cousin’s, Mick Malone.”