Hounds met opposite the Haycock, once a coaching-inn, but now a private house, and the gathering became a large one. From the great rambling old house servants carried glasses of sloe gin for all and sundry who cared to partake of the old English hunting hospitality. Geoffrey’s host introduced him to the Master, while the crowd of horses and cars became more congested every minute, and everywhere greetings were being exchanged.
Presently Barnard, the huntsman, drew his hounds together, the word was given, and all went leisurely up to draw first cover.
The morning was a damp cold one in mid-February; the frost had given, and every one expected a good run for the scent would be excellent.
The first cover was, however, drawn blank, but from the second a fox went away straight for Elton, and soon the pace became fast and furious. After a couple of miles more than half the field were left behind; still Geoffrey kept on, and while Sylvia remained far behind, yet May Farncombe was considerably in front of him. Suddenly, without any effort, the girl took a high hedge, and was cutting across the pastures ere he was aware that she had left the road. That she was a straight rider was quickly apparent, but Geoffrey preferred the gate to the hedge and ditch which she had taken so clearly.
Half an hour later the kill took place near Haddon, and of the half-dozen in at the death May Farncombe was one.
When Geoffrey came up five minutes later, she rode forward, crying:
“What a topping run, Mr. Falconer! I have enjoyed it thoroughly!” Her face was flushed with hard riding, yet her hair was in no way awry, and she presented a really fine figure of the up-to-date athletic girl.
Just, however, as Geoffrey and his companion sat watching Barnard cut off the brush, a tall, rather good-looking, fair-haired man rode up, having apparently been left behind, as he had. As he approached, Geoffrey noticed that he gave his handsome companion a strange look almost of warning, while she, on her part, turned away her head. It was as though he had made her some secret sign which she had understood.
That May Farncombe knew him was apparent. The slight quiver in the man’s eyelids, and the almost imperceptible curl of the lips had not passed him unnoticed. There was some secret between them, of what nature he, of course, knew not.