The Baby was a bright bay with black points, small clean head, short well-cut ears, and a bright eye, arching neck, and, as she showed when trotted up the yard with the groom at her head, splendid action. When she was pulled up and stood in the usual position after the "show" had been given, Laurence stepped up, eyed her critically all over, and passed his hand down her legs. Spurrier laughed. "All right there, Colonel. Fine as silk; not a sign of a puff, I'll guarantee, and strong as steel. Perfect animal., I call her, for a park-hack." A horse was never a "horse," but always an "animal" with Mr. Spurrier, as with the rest of his fraternity. "Will you get on her, Colonel? Just give her a turn in the Park.--Here, take this mare in, and put a saddle and bridle on her for Colonel Alsager." It was a bright sunny winter's day, and the few people in town were taking their constitutional in the Row. As Alsager rode round by the Achilles statue he heard ringing laughter and saw fluttering habits, which, associated with the place in his mind with his last London experiences, brought up some apparently unpleasant recollection as he touched the mare with his heel, and she after two or three capricious bounds, settled down into that long swinging gallop which is such perfect luxury. He brought her back as quietly as she would come, though a little excited and restless at the unaccustomed exercise, and growled a good deal to himself as he rode. "Just the same; a little more sun, and some leaves on the trees then, and a few more people about; that's all. Gad! I can see her now, sitting square, as she always used, and as easy on that chestnut brute that pulled so infernally, as though she were in an armchair. Ah! enough has happened since I was last in this place." And then he rode the Baby into the yard, asked Mr. Spurrier her price agreed, to take her, told Spurrier he wanted a groom and a groom's horse, and was sauntering away when Mr. Spurrier said, "You'll want something to carry you to hounds, Colonel?" "I think not; at all events not this season." "Sorry for that, as I've got something up at the farm that would suit You exactly." "No, thank you; where did you say?" "At our farm at Acton. You've been there, you know." "The farm at Acton,"--that was where Lady Mitford said she was going to drive. She must be the lady whom Mr. Saunderson had gone to meet. Spurrier saw the irresolution in his customer's face and acted promptly. "Let me take you out there; we sha'n't be twenty minutes going and this is really something you ought not to miss. He's so good, that I give you my word I wouldn't sell him to any but a workman. You will? All right!--Put the horses to." Within three minutes Laurence Alsager was seated by Mr. Spurrier's side in a mail-phaeton, spinning along to Mr. Saunderson's farm and his own fate.