"Harriet!" her father said, reprovingly. "She is a spoiled madcap, Sir Everard, and I am afraid the fault is mine. She has been everywhere with me in her seventeen years of life--freezing amid the snows of Canada and grilling alive under the broiling sun of India. And the result is--what you see."
"The result is--perfection!"
"Papa," Miss Hunsden said, turning her sparkling face to her father, "for Sir Everard's sake, pray change the subject. If you talk of me, he will feel in duty bound to pay compliments; and really, after such a fast run, it is too much to expect of any man. There! I see Lady Louise across the brook yonder. I will leave you gentlemen to cultivate one another. Allons, messieurs!"
One fleeting, backward glance of the bewitching face, a saucy smile and a wave of the hand, and Whirlwind had leaped across the brook and ambled on beside the sober charger of Lady Louise.
"Every one has been talking of your riding, Miss Hunsden," Lady Louise said. "I am nearly beside myself with envy. Lord Ernest Strathmore says you are the most graceful equestrienne he ever saw."
"His lordship is very good. I wish I could return the compliment, but his chestnut balked shamefully, and came home dead beat!"
Lord Ernest was within hearing distance of the clear, girlish voice, but he only laughed good-naturedly.
"As you are strong, be merciful, Miss Hunsden. We can't all perform miracles on horseback, you know. I came an awful cropper at that ugly hedge, to be sure, and your red horse went over me like a blaze of lightning! You owe me some atonement, and--of course you are going to the ball to-night?"
"Of course! I like balls even better than hunting."
"And she dances better than she rides," put in her father, coming up.
"She is perfection in everything she undertakes, I am certain," Lord Ernest said, "and for that atonement I speak of, Miss Hunsden, I claim the first waltz."
They rode together to Carteret Park. Sir Everard had the privilege of assisting her to dismount.
"You must be fatigued, Miss Hunsden," he said. "With a ball in prospective, after your hard gallop, I should recommend a long rest."
"Sir Everard, I don't know the meaning of that word 'fatigue.' I never was tired in my life, and I am ready for the ball to-night, and a steeple-chase to-morrow."
She tripped off as she spoke, with a mischievous glance. She wanted to shock him, and she succeeded.
"Poor girl!" he thought, as he slowly turned homeward, "she is really dreadful. She never had a mother, I suppose, and wandering over the world with her father has made her a perfect savage. She is truly to be pitied--so exceedingly beautiful as she is, too!"