Our party lost no time in preparing for the expedition of the day, and, ere long, the vehicles, the horses, and even the ladies, were all in marching order. I had too much tact to attempt to engross Lady Loftus at the beginning of the day; but resolved, as she was to be with "mamma" in the drag, to become one of its occupants when returning home, if I could achieve nothing better. My man Pitblado, and other grooms, brought forth the saddled horses, and my uncle appeared in a red hunting-coat, boots and tops, with whip and cap complete, his cheek glowing with health and pleasure, and his eyes sparkling as if he were again sixteen. "By the way, Newton," said he, slapping his boot-tops, "that lancer fellow of yours——" "Willie Pitblado, my servant?" "Yes, well, he has tumbled Lady Chillingham’s French soubrette about, as if he had known her from infancy; and what suits the meridian of Maidstone barracks won’t do at Calderwood Glen, so tell him. And now, Mr. Berkeley, here are Dunearn, Saline, and Splinter-bar. You can have your choice of cavalry; but shorten your stirrups. I always take the leathers up two holes for hunting." "Aw—haw, thanks," drawled this Dundreary (whose fashionable hunting suit, in cut and brilliancy of colour, quite eclipsed the well-worn costume of the jolly old baronet), as he proceeded leisurely to examine the bridle and girths, observing the while to me— "Louisa looks well this morning." "Louisa!" I repeated, with astonishment: "is it the mare—her name is Saline, so called from some hills in Fife—or whom on earth do you mean?" "Why, Lady Loftus, to be sure." "And you speak of her thus freely or familiarly?" "Ya—haw—yes." "By Jove, you surprise me!" "By what, eh?" "Your perfect assurance, to be plain with you, my friend." "Don’t deem it such, my dear fellaw, though it is doocid dangerous when one comes to speak of so charming a girl by her Christian name; it shows how a fellaw thinks or _feels_, and all that sort of thing; do you understand?" "Not very clearly; but consider, Berkeley, what you are about, and don’t make a deucid fool of yourself," said I, with undisguised anger. "No danger of that; but—haw—surely you are not spooney in that quarter yourself? Eh—haw—if I thought so, curse me if I wouldn’t draw stakes, and hedge. You know that I like you, Newton; and your old uncle, Sir Nigel, is a doocid good kind of fellaw—a trump, in fact," he added, while lightly vaulting into his saddle, and gathering up his reins, but eying me like a lynx, through his glass, as if to read my most secret thoughts. Disdaining to reply, I drew haughtily back. "So-oh," said my uncle, who was now mounted. "I know that grey mare, Saline, well; so, Mr. Berkeley, by gently feeling her mouth, and grinding her up to the requisite pitch of speed, she’ll soon leave the whole field behind her."