When the master decided a little after
three that he would draw no more, because there wasn't a yard of scent,
our party had nine or ten miles to ride back to their carriages. Lizzie
was very tired, and when Lord George took her from her horse could almost
have cried from fatigue. Mrs. Carbuncle was never fatigued, but she had
become damp--soaking wet through, as she herself said--during the four
minutes that the man was absent with her waterproof jacket, and could not
bring herself to forget the ill-usage she had suffered. Lucinda had become
absolutely dumb, and any observer would have fancied that the two
gentlemen had quarrelled with each other.
"You ought to go on the box now," said Sir Griffin, grumbling.
"When you're my age and I'm yours, I will," said Lord George, taking his
seat in the carriage. Then he appealed to Lizzie. "You'll let me smoke,
won't you?" She simply bowed her head. And so they went home--Lord George
smoking, and the ladies dumb. Lizzie, as she dressed for dinner, almost
cried with vexation and disappointment.
There was a little conversation up-stairs between Mrs. Carbuncle and
Lucinda, when they were free from the attendance of their joint maid.
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