"Humph," muttered Mr Elthorne; and then in a low voice to his son: "Of course. If you had had any brains you would have ridden out to meet them, and not left them to another escort." "Oh, I shall be with them all day, sir, and--Ah Saxa, you foolish girl," he cried excitedly, of course with his words perfectly inaudible to the member of the group whom he was addressing. "The horse will rush that fence as sure as I'm here. Oh, hang all wire and hurdles!" "What's the matter?" cried Beck, starting from the table as Alison opened the French window and stepped out. "My word, how those two girls can ride." "Like Amazons, sir," said Mr Elthorne proudly, as he watched the party, now coming over the closely cropped turf at quite a racing pace; and his voice was full of the excitement he felt. "Will she see it, Al, my boy? Yes, she rises--cleared it like a swallow. Bravo! With such a lead the others are safe to--" "Well done! Well over!" cried Alison, from outside, as he began clapping his hands. "Capital! Bravo!" cried Mr Elthorne, following his son's example, as he now stepped outside to meet the party who were rapidly coming up after skimming over the hurdle which formed part of the ring fence of the estate. "All safe over, Mrs Barnett," said the vicar's son, returning to the table. "Then they don't deserve to be, Mr Beck," said the lady. "I do not approve of girls being so horribly masculine. If our Isabel were like that, I should feel as if I had not done my duty to her since her poor mother died." "But she is not like that," said the visitor, after a quick glance at the open window. "No, my dear, not a bit. I hate to see young ladies such tomboys. But there--poor girls!--no mother--no father." "And no Aunt Anne to guide them," interpolated the visitor. "Thank you, my dear. It's very nice of you to say so. I'm afraid I'm not clever, but I do try to act a mother's part to dear Isabel. I don't know, though, what I shall do when Neil and Alison marry those two. They don't like me a bit, and, between ourselves, I really don't like them." "Morning, daddy," came in a loud, breathless voice from the outside. "What do you think of that?" "Morning," came in another voice; and the word was repeated again in the deep tones of a man, and supplemented by the snortings of horses. "Morning, my dears. Capital! But very imprudent. I will not have you trying to break that pretty little neck--nor you neither, Dana. Burwood, you should not have encouraged them." "I? That's good, Mr Elthorne. They both took the bit in their teeth, and all I could do was to follow." "Oh, stuff and nonsense!" cried the second voice. "What a fuss about a canter. Come, you folks, are you ready?" "How's Aunt Anne?"