“Kate will show you the way to do that.”
“With Kate and Mr. Twentyman to help me, and a judicious system of liberal tips to Tony Tuppett, I could make my way about on a quiet old nag, and live respected by my neighbours. The fact is I hate with my whole heart the trash of the philanimalist.”
“What is a—a—I didn’t quite catch the thing you hate?”
“The thing is a small knot of self-anxious people who think that they possess among them all the bowels of the world.”
“Possess all the what, Reginald?”
“I said bowels—using an ordinary but very ill-expressed metaphor. The ladies and gentlemen to whom I allude, not looking very clearly into the systems of pains and pleasures in accordance with which we have to live, put their splay feet down now upon this ordinary operation and now upon that, and call upon the world to curse the cruelty of those who will not agree with them. A lady whose tippet is made from the skins of twenty animals who have been wired in the snow and then left to die of starvation—”
“Oh, Reginald!”
“That is the way of it. I am not now saying whether it is right or wrong. The lady with the tippet will justify the wires and the starvation because, as she will say, she uses the fur. An honest blanket would keep her just as warm. But the fox who suffers perhaps ten minutes of agony should he not succeed as he usually does in getting away—is hunted only for amusement! It is true that the one fox gives amusement for hours to perhaps some hundred;—but it is only for amusement. What riles me most is that these would-be philosophers do not or will not see that recreation is as necessary to the world as clothes or food, and the providing of the one is as legitimate a business as the purveying of the other.”
“People must eat and wear clothes.”
“And practically they must be amused. They ignore the great doctrine of tanti.”
“I never heard of it.”
“You shall, dear, some day. It is the doctrine by which you should regulate everything you do and every word you utter. Now do you and Kate put on your hats and we’ll walk to the bridge.”
This preaching of a sermon took place after breakfast at Bragton on the morning of Saturday, and the last order had reference to a scheme they had on foot to see the meet at the old kennels. On the previous afternoon Reginald Morton had come into Dillsborough and had very quietly settled everything with the attorney. Having made up his mind to do the thing he was very quick in the doing of it. He hated the idea of secrecy in such an affair, and when Mrs. Masters asked him whether he had any objection to have the marriage talked about, expressed his willingness that she should employ the town crier to make it public if she thought it expedient. “Oh, Mr. Morton, how very funny you are,” said the lady. “Quite in earnest, Mrs. Masters,” he replied. Then he kissed the two girls who were to be his sisters, and finished the visit by carrying off the younger to spend a day or two with her sister at Bragton. “I know,” he said, whispering to Mary as he left the front door, “that I ought not to go out hunting so soon after my poor cousin’s death; but as he was a cousin once removed, I believe I may walk as far as the bridge without giving offence.”
When they were there they saw all the arrivals just as they were seen on the same spot a few months earlier by a very different party. Mary and Kate stood on the bridge together, while he remained a little behind leaning on the stile. She, poor girl, had felt some shame in showing herself, knowing that some who were present would have heard of her engagement, and that others would be told of it as soon as she was seen. “Are you ashamed of what you are going to do?” he asked.
“Ashamed! I don’t suppose that there is a girl in England so proud as I am at this minute.”
“I don’t know that there is anything to be proud of, but if you are not ashamed, why shouldn’t you show yourself? Marriage is an honourable state!” She could only pinch his arm, and do as he bade her.
Glomax in his tandem, and Lord Rufford in his drag, were rather late. First there came one or two hunting men out of the town, Runciman, Dr. Nupper, and the hunting saddler. Then there arrived Henry Stubbings with a string of horses, mounted by little boys, ready for his customers, and full of wailing to his friend Runciman. Here was nearly the end of March and the money he had seen since Christmas was little more, as he declared, than what he could put into his eye and see none the worse. “Charge ’em ten percent interest,” said Runciman. “Then they thinks they can carry on for another year,” said Stubbings despondingly. While this was going on, Larry walked his favourite mare “Bicycle” on to the ground, dressed with the utmost care, but looking very moody, almost fierce, as though he did not wish anybody to speak to him. Tony Tuppett, who had known him since a boy, nodded at him affectionately, and said how glad he was to see him;—but even this was displeasing to Larry. He did not see
