“If I had known you were coming here I’d have given you a mount,” he immediately and bountifully cried. There was not in his person that irradiation of wealth and distinction which made Lord Canterville glow like a picture; but as he sat there with his neat little legs stuck out he looked very bright and sharp and happy, wearing in his degree the aspect of one of Fortune’s favourites. He had a thin keen delicate face, a nose very carefully finished, a quick eye, a trifle hard in expression, and a fine dark moustache, a good deal cultivated. He was not striking, but he had his intensity, and it was easy to see that he had his purposes. “How many horses have you got—about forty?” his compatriot inquired in response to his greeting. “About five hundred,” said Jackson Lemon. “Did you mount your friends—the three you were riding with?” “Mount them? They’ve got the best horses in England.” “Did they sell you this one?” Sidney Feeder continued in the same humorous strain. “What do you think of him?” said his friend without heed of this question. “Well, he’s an awful old screw. I wonder he can carry you.” “Where did you get your hat?” Jackson asked both as a retort and as a relevant criticism. “I got it in New York. What’s the matter with it?” “It’s very beautiful. I wish I had brought over one like it.” “The head’s the thing—not the hat. I don’t mean yours—I mean mine,” Sidney Feeder laughed. “There’s something very deep in your question. I must think it over.” “Don’t—don’t,” said Jackson Lemon; “you’ll never get to the bottom of it. Are you having a good time?” “A glorious time. Have you been up to-day?” “Up among the doctors? No—I’ve had a lot of things to do,” Jackson was obliged to plead. “Well”—and his friend richly recovered it—“we had a very interesting discussion. I made a few remarks.” “You ought to have told me. What were they about?” “About the intermarriage of races from the point of view—” And Sidney Feeder paused a moment, occupied with the attempt to scratch the nose of the beautiful horse. “From the point of view of the progeny, I suppose?” “Not at all. From the point of view of the old friends.” “Damn the old friends!” Doctor Lemon exclaimed with jocular crudity. “Is it true that you’re going to marry a young marchioness?” The face of the speaker in the saddle became just a trifle rigid, and his firm eyes penetrated the other. “Who has played that on you?” “Mr. and Mrs. Freer, whom I met just now.” “Mr. and Mrs. Freer be hanged too. And who told _them_?” “Ever so many fashionable people. I don’t know who.” “Gad, how things are tattled!” cried Jackson Lemon with asperity. “I can see it’s true by the way you say that,” his friend ingenuously stated. “Do Freer and his wife believe it?” Jackson went on impatiently. “They want you to go and see them. You can judge for yourself.” “I’ll go and see them and tell them to mind their business.”