The Quiet Gentleman

Neither the Dowager nor Miss Morville appeared at the breakfast-table next morning; and although a place was laid for the Chaplain, he had not emerged from his bedchamber when Gervase joined his brother and his cousin in the sunny parlour. His entrance disconcerted Martin, who was fairly embarked on a scathing condemnation of the clothing which he apparently considered suitable for country-wear. Since Gervase was impeccably attired in riding-breeches, top-boots, and a serviceable, if unusually well-cut, frockcoat, Martin's scornful animadversions became, even in his own ears, singularly inapposite. Theo, who had listened to him in unencouraging silence, smiled slightly at sight of the Earl, and said to his younger cousin: "You were saying?"

"It don't signify!" snapped Martin, glowering at him.

"Good-morning!" said Gervase. "Oh, don't ring the bell, Theo! Abney knows I am here."

"I trust no nightmares, Gervase?" Theo said quizzically.

"Not the least in the world. Do either of you know if my horses have yet arrived?"

"Yes, I understand they came in early this morning, your groom having stayed at Grantham overnight. An old soldier, is he?"

"Yes, an excellent fellow, from my own Troop," replied Gervase, walking over to the side-table, and beginning to carve a large ham there.

"I say, Gervase, where did you come by that gray?" demanded Martin.

The Earl glanced over his shoulder. "In Ireland. Do you like him?"

"Prime bit of blood! I suppose you mean to take the shine out of us Melton men with him?"

"I haven't hunted him yet. We shall see how he does. I brought him down to try his paces a little."

"You won't hack him during the summer!"

"No, I shan't do that," said the Earl gravely.

"My dear Martin, do you imagine that Gervase does not know a great deal more about horses than you?" said Theo.

"Oh, well, I daresay he may, but troopers are a different matter!"

That made Gervase laugh. "Very true!—as I know to my cost! But I have been more fortunate than many: I have only once been obliged to ride one."

"When was that?" enquired Theo.

"At Orthes. I had three horses shot under me that day, and very inconvenient I found it."

"You bear a charmed life, Gervase."

"I do, don't I?" agreed the Earl, seating himself at the table.

"Were you never even wounded?" asked Martin curiously.

"Nothing but a sabre-cut or two, and a graze from a spent ball. Tell me what cattle you have in the stables here!"

No question could have been put to Martin that would more instantly have made him sink his hostility. He plunged, without further encouragement, into a technical and detailed description of all the proper high-bred 'uns, beautiful steppers, and gingers to be found in the Stanyon stables at that moment. Animation lightened the darkness of his eyes, and dispelled the sullen expression from about his mouth. The Earl, listening to him with a half-smile hovering on his lips, slipped in a leading question about the state of his coverts, and finished his breakfast to the accompaniment of an exposition of the advantages of close shot over one that scattered, the superiority of the guns supplied by Manton's, and the superlative merits of percussion caps.

"To tell you the truth," confessed Martin, "I am a good deal addicted to sport!"

The Earl preserved his countenance. "I perceive it. What do you find to do in the spring and the summer-time, Martin?"

"Oh, well! Of course, there is nothing much to do," acknowledged Martin. "But one can always get a rabbit, or a brace of wood-pigeon!"

"If you can get a wood-pigeon, you are a good shot," observed Gervase.

This remark could scarcely have failed to please. "Well, I can, and it is true, isn't it, that a wood-pigeon is a testing shot?" said Martin. "My father would always pooh-pooh it, but Glossop says—you remember Glossop, the head-keeper?—that your pigeon will afford you as good sport as any game-bird of them all!"

The Earl agreed to it; and Martin continued to talk very happily of all his sporting experiences, until an unlucky remark of Theo's put him in mind of his grievances, when he relapsed into a fit of monosyllabic sulks, which lasted for the rest of the meal.

"Really, Theo, that was not adroit!" said the Earl, afterwards.

"No: bacon-brained!" owned Theo ruefully. "But if we are to guard our tongues every minute of every day—I"

"Nonsense! The boy is merely spoilt. Is that my stepmother's voice? I shall go down to the stables!"