Then, my young friend, take my advice: rush into
the world, and triumph will grow out of your quick life, like Victory
bounding from the palm of Jove!
Our Duke ordered his horses, and as he rattled along recovered from the
enervating effects of his soft reverie. On his way home he fell in with
Mr. Dacre and the two Baronets, returning on their hackneys from a hard
fought field.
'Gay sport?' asked his Grace.
'A capital run. I think the last forty minutes the most splitting thing
we have had for a long time!' answered Sir Chetwode. 'I only hope Jack
Wilson will take care of poor Fanny. I did not half like leaving her.
Your Grace does not join us?'
'I mean to do so; but I am, unfortunately, a late riser.'
'Hem!' said Sir Tichborne. The monosyllable meant much.
'I have a horse which I think will suit your Grace,' said Mr. Dacre,
'and to which, in fact, you are entitled, for it bears the name of your
house. You have ridden Hauteville, Sir Tichborne?'
'Yes; fine animal!'
'I shall certainly try his powers,' said the Duke. 'When is your next
field-day?'
'Thursday,' said Sir Tichborne; 'but we shall be too early for you, I am
afraid,' with a gruff smile.
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