CHAPTER XLV

MISS ROSA’S RETURN

“WELL, Mamma, and what do you think of this?” exclaimed Miss Rosa, riding her pony over the trim lawn up to the open bay window of the drawingroom, where sat her Mamma enjoying the last lingering sunshine of the incomparable Comet summer.

“O Rosa, my love, I’m so glad you’ve got back!” exclaimed her parent, rising from her little work-table and hurrying up to the window.

“Well, Mamma, and what do you think of this?” repeated Miss Rosa, putting her pony’s head straight before her.

“Of what?” asked Mamma, not seeing what she meant.

“Of this,” said Miss Rosa, pointing with her tiny whip to the decoration on the pony’s head.

“What, another!” exclaimed Mrs. McDermott, with unfeigned surprise; “well, whose is it this time?”

Miss Rosa (archly)—“Guess.”

“Well, the Duke, perhaps,” suggested Mamma, after a pause, seeing by her daughter’s face it was some one she was proud of.

“Guess again!” exclaimed she, with increased glee.

“Well then, Lord Marchhare,” replied Mamma, now naming the gentleman she was inclined to do at first.

“Lord Marchhare it was,” replied Miss Rosa, with due emphasis— Lord Marchhare it was,” repeated she, “fastened it into Snowdrop’s head with his own hands.”

“Indeed,” smiled Mamma, evidently not thinking so much of the triumph as her daughter.

“Fastened it with his own hands, Mamma, before the Miss Springfields and a whole host of other people— Captain Lightfoot, and I don’t know who else.”

“That was nice,” rejoined Mamma, still fearing the compliment would not lead to a coronet. “I’m glad you went, for it has been a beautiful day, and the country must have been charming.”

“Well, but about the brush! Don’t you think it was very nice?” asked Miss Rosa, patting her pony.

“Oh, very nice,” replied Mamma; “only I hope you didn’t show you thought so?”

“Certainly not,” retorted Miss Rosa, bridling up— “certainly not—I’m not quite so unused to civility as that.”

‘And how did the Duke seem to take it?” asked Mamma, after a pause.

“Oh, the Duke was quite affable and agreeable— didn’t seem to think it anything uncommon.”

“Ah, I’m afraid that would be the case,” rejoined Mamma; “he would look upon it as one of his lordship’s matters of course.”

“Oh, you do so like to tease me,” retorted Rosa, jerking her elbows.

“No, my dear, indeed I don’t,” replied Mrs. McDermott, calmly; “only you know it’s well to look at the case in all its bearings.”

“Bearings! my dear Mamma, there are no bearings! I only said Lord Marchhare rode about with me, and gave me the brush when we killed.”

“Oh, rode about with you, did he?” replied Mamma; “well, that’s more like the thing.”

“Yes, regularly chaperoned me,” rejoined the somewhat pacified Miss; “told me what to take and what to avoid. In fact, if it hadn’t been for him, I should not have stayed for the run. He kept coaxing me on, and on, and on, till at last we came to a finish by killing.”

Mamma—“And then he put the fox’s brush in your bridle.”

Rosa—“Yes, he couldn’t well do it before,” continued she, laughing, “because the fox was wearing it himself, you know.”

“I see,” said Mrs. McDermott, who had now mastered the whole story—find, flurry, finish, flirtation, and all.

“Well, I’m sure I’m glad to see you safe back, my dear,” continued Mamma, eyeing her pretty daughter regardfully. “I began to be uneasy about you, only I thought you might have gone to the castle.”

“Castle! There was no ‘castle’ to day,” replied Rosa; “nobody out but the Duke and my lord.”

“No Duchess?” asked Mrs. McDermott.

“No Duchess,” replied Rosa, with a shake of her head—“heard nothing about her, in fact—she doesn’t show, you know, unless she has company, or there is some one she thinks it worth her while being civil to. No poor little me, you know, nor yet the Miss Springfields, nor yet Cousin Sparrow.”

“Well, never mind, my dear, you’ve done very well,” replied the satisfied parent, “you’ve done very well. So now put up your pony, and let us have dinner; for you must be hungry, and it is long past the hour, and cook will be cross, and it’s no use making her angry about nothing, you know.” So saying, Mrs. McDermott closed the half-opened ground-reaching window, and Rosa turning her pony about, trotted away to deliver it up to old Gaiters at the stable. That worthy, having housed his own horse, had rushed into the house as well to refresh his frame with a draught of mild ale, as to tell the establishment the wonderful events of the day. How the Earl had selected their young lady to ride with, how he had led her through the country, and finally, given her the brush; a piece of intelligence that was presently confirmed by our heroine re-entering by the back way, bearing the trophy triumphantly in her hand. And the conversation both in kitchen and parlour that evening took a very ambitious coronetted turn, the maids all going for the greatness, while Mrs. Gaiters, who had seen something of life, took the more moderate hope-for-the-best tone.