Sophie's Halloo by Patricia Wynn Read Free Book Online Page B

delightful.” She glanced at Sophie and finding nothing in her expression to discourage her, accepted the invitation on her daughter’s behalf. A date was fixed, and Sophie was not displeased. As yet, she had seen little of London and an afternoon at the Royal Academy sounded rather grand. She looked on Mr. Rollo more favourably.Their guest continued to impress them with his mastery of the city’s amusements, the opera, the theatre, the assemblies, until dessert was served. Then Sir John, who had been listening patiently with the obvious air of promoting his daughter’s acquaintance with Mr. Rollo, took charge of the conversation again.
    “Rollo,” he said, “I was not able to finish telling you, this afternoon, about the astuteness of our master of hounds, Mr. Bentham, of whom you have heard such reports. I believe that one anecdote will illustrate just what I mean when I say that he is without equal.”
    Mr. Rollo turned to him with interest. Sir John continued. “It was December seventeen of last year, I believe, when we were following the pack at a furious speed. The hounds had outdistanced us when they set off down the steep bank of a stream after the fox, and all of us who were still in the field had to go thirty yards out of the way to find a place to ford. The next fence was a rasper and put us farther behind, but the pack was in full pursuit, and we could hear them sounding. Their perfection showed in their hard running, heads up, tails down. It was fine to behold. (Bentham has never had a hound quit the chase!)
    “Anyway, as I was saying, we heard the cry of the leader. And Bentham, who was keeping pace with me at the time, says, ‘That will be Patch in the lead.’ He spoke with full confidence. I assure you that we were so far behind the pack that I had to wonder how he could distinguish the cries, but as we caught up to them, Bentham’s huntsman, as fine a man as ever held that position, confirmed it. He had thought it another hound, but Bentham proved to be right!” And to emphasize the astounding nature of his story, Sir John brought his hand down on the table with a loud slap.
    The slap caught Sophie, whose thoughts had drifted, unawares. Her head jerked so forcefully that she was certain their guest must have noticed it, but glancing in his direction, she realized that he had not. He was giving his full attention to her father, and his expression was so rapt with fascination that her heart sank within her. An inner voice cried, “Oh, no.”
    Sir John was still speaking about his master of hounds. “He breeds hard-to-line, of course. Won’t allow bow-legged blood to enter in, even if it means sacrificing strong scenting ability to speed. He has to hang many a pup, but, of course, it’s necessary.”
    “Of course,” agreed Mr. Rollo without a blink.
    “I give him free walking rights over all my own properties. He has not enough to exercise the hounds properly during cubbing season. He don’t let them kill the foxes in cover, mind you, for a seasoned fox is as necessary to the hunt as a seasoned hound, I always say.”
    “I could not agree with you more, Sir John,” said Mr. Rollo. He sighed. “I must say I envy you your county of residence. I have hunted from Melton Mowbray, and it was the greatest pleasure of my life, but it takes means to maintain one’s own stud so far away from one’s home county.”
    “Have you not the income for it, my boy?” asked Sir John sympathetically.
    “Alas, no,” said Mr. Rollo. “Not yet. But do not think my prospects are without hope,” he added, remembering the presence of the ladies. “I am fortunate to have a doting aunt who has the intention of making me her heir. She will be leaving me quite well off, and I have reason to hope she will not last out the year.”
    “That is splendid, my boy!” cried Sir John. “We will drink to the prospect of seeing you in Leicestershire before the year is out.”
    “That is very kind of you, Sir John,”