“Let him keep him off the grass and he 'll go like a lamb. I'll not answer for him on the sward, though; but I 'll look to him, uncle, and bring him back safe and sound.” And, so saying, Mary bounded away down the stairs, and away to the stables, forgetting everything of her late discontent, and only eager on the plan before her. Martin was very far from satisfied about the arrangement for his friend's equitation; nor did the aspect of Repton himself, as attired for the road, allay that sense of alarm; the old lawyer's costume being a correct copy of the colored prints of those worthies who figured in the early years of George the Third's reign,--a gray cloth spencer being drawn over his coat, fur-collared and cuffed, high riding-boots of black polished leather, reaching above the knee, and large gauntlets of bright yellow doeskin, completing an equipment which Martin had seen nothing resembling for forty years back. “A perfect cavalier, Repton!” exclaimed he, smiling. “We once could do a little that way,” said the other, with a touch of vanity. “In our early days, Martin, hunting was essentially a gentleman's pastime. The meet was not disfigured by aspiring linen drapers or ambitious hardwaremen, and the tone of the field was the tone of society; but _nous avons changé tout cela_. Sporting men, as they call themselves, have descended to the groom vocabulary; and the groom morals, and we, of the old school, should only be laughed at for the pedantry of good manners and good English, did we venture amongst them.” “My niece will put a different estimate on your companionship; and here she comes. Molly, my old and valued friend, Mr. Repton.” “I kiss your hand, Miss Martin,” said he, accompanying the speech by the act, with all the grace of a courtier. “It's worth while being an old fellow, to be able to claim these antiquated privileges.” There was something in the jaunty air and well-assumed gallantry of the old lawyer which at once pleased Mary, who accepted his courtesy with a gracious smile. She had been picturing to herself a very different kind of companion, and was well satisfied with the reality. “I proposed to young Mr. Nelligan to join us,” said Repton, as he conducted her to the door; “but it seems he is too deeply intent upon some question or point of law or history--I forget which--whereupon we differed last night, and has gone into the library to search for the solution of it. As for me, Miss Martin, I am too young for such dry labors; or, as the Duc de Nevers said, when somebody rebuked him for dancing at seventy, 'Only think what a short time is left me for folly.'”