Though he had given up schooling young horses, he
could ride as hard as ever. He could shoot all day. He could take
"his whack of wine," as he called it, sit up smoking half the night,
and be on horseback the next morning after an early breakfast without
the slightest feeling of fatigue. He was a red-faced little man, with
broad shoulders, clean shaven, with small eyes, and a nose on which
incipient pimples began to show themselves. To himself and the
comrades of his life he was almost as young as he had ever been; but
the young ladies of the county called him Old Spooner, and regarded
him as a permanent assistant unpaid huntsman to the Brake hounds. It
was not within the compass of Miss Palliser's imagination to conceive
that this man should intend to propose himself to her as her lover.
"I have been waiting for this opportunity all the morning," said Mr.
Spooner. Adelaide Palliser turned round and looked at him, still
understanding nothing. Ride at any fence hard enough, and the chances
are you'll get over.
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