"He is a naughty man to disappoint us so cruelly!" declared Mrs. Judge
Ballard of the Honourable George, but the coquetry of it was feigned
to cover a very real irritation. I made haste with possible excuses. I
said that he might be ill, or that important letters in that day's
post might have detained him. I knew he had been astonishingly well
that morning, also that he loathed letters and almost practically
never received any; but something had to be said.
"A naughty, naughty fellow!" repeated Mrs. Ballard, and the members of
her party echoed it. They had looked forward rather pathetically, I
saw, to hearing about Country Life in England from one who had lived
it.
I was now drawn to greet the Belknap-Jacksons, who entered, and to the
pleasure of winning their hearty approval for the perfection of my
arrangements. As the wife presently joined Mrs. Ballard's group, the
husband called me to his table and disclosed that almost the worst
might be feared of the Honourable George. He was at that moment, it
appeared, with a rabble of cow-persons and members of the lower class
gathered at a stockade at the edge of town, where various native
horses fresh from the wilderness were being taught to be ridden.
"The wretched Floud is with him," continued my informant, "also the
Tuttle chap, who continues to be received by our best people in spite
of my remonstrances, and he yells quite like a demon when one of the
riders is thrown.
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