“Who was with them?” asked his father; the old man’s eye kindling, as he filled a glass of ruby port, and offered me my choice between that and a tempting-looking claret decanter. “Who was going well? The Earl, I’ll pound it! Castle-Cropper will be with ’em, let it be ever so good for pace; and Will Hawke, I suppose; and who else?” “The person that seemed to me to be going best,” I here interposed, filling my glass, “was a lady on a grey horse; a Miss Merlin, I believe, who is staying at the inn at Soakington. A most extraordinary horsewoman!” The Jovial blushed, though he hid his confusion in a great gulp of Madeira. Rebecca and Jane interchanged looks of considerable meaning, and the former (I think) took up the running. “How very unfeminine!” said she, turning round to me. “Don’t you think so, Mr. Softly? I’m sure gentlemen must wish ladies anywhere else, when they come out hunting. I think it oughtn’t to be allowed; and this Miss Merlin, you know, rides just like a man.” “Don’t believe her!” exclaimed the Jovial, in his turn. “I’ve seen her out with our hounds many a time, but never on anything but a side-saddle, in my life.” Rebecca blushed in her turn. “How _can_ you, James?” said she. “Of course I didn’t mean _that_. But you’re so infatuated about Miss Merlin, you think she can’t do wrong. And what there is to admire in her, I can’t see, for my part.” “Why, she _does_ ride beautifully, you know,” put in Jane, apologetically; at least, I suppose it was Jane, as she seemed more tolerant of manly exercises than her sister, and was altogether of a livelier and more attractive style. I couldn’t help thinking, even then, I would give something to see her doing the outside edge backwards. “Well, but that’s a _man’s_ accomplishment,” replied her sister. “I was speaking more of her good looks. Come, Mr. Softly; give us your honest opinion. _Do_ you think her so very wonderfully beautiful?” This was obviously a back-hander at James, who, having by this time tackled well to the Madeira, bore it with the utmost philosophy. I was obliged to confess that, although living in the same hotel, I had never seen her, not thinking it necessary to add my opinion of Justine, nor to dwell on the circumstances under which I had made that sweet little woman’s acquaintance.