If anyone could be found rash enough to hint to Mrs. Polson that in the hunting-field she was, to say the least of it, rather a bore than otherwise, the look of undisguised astonishment with which that individual's remarks would be met, ought, if he had any right feeling, to convince him that he was wrong; and that, if there was a woman in this world who was a useful addition to the Hunt, and who, wherever and whenever she thought proper to grace the scene, was always rapturously welcomed, that woman was Mrs. Polson, wife of Joseph[Pg 127] Polson, Esq., M.P., better known as The Right Hon. J.P.

Although as yet no one has dared to breathe a word to the lady herself, there are men, and a large number to boot, who, among themselves, vote her a nuisance; in fact they have been known to say that she is "One of the most infernal nuisances out. Always in the way. Never happy unless she is talking horse and hound, and for ever trying to catch some unfortunate novice 'just to give her a lead here, or to open a gate there;' while to answer her questions a man needs to be a walking glossary."

I am afraid there is a deal of truth in what these unappreciative men say, for Mrs. Polson before she was married had never got farther in the equestrian art than an occasional ride on a shaggy pony when staying with her aunt in Devonshire, or the haute école as practised up and down the King's Road at so much per hour when staying with her uncle at Brighton.

[Pg 128]

It was at the latter place that she met good-natured easy-going Joseph Polson; and when her father, who was rector of a small parish in Dorset, heard that his Letty had said "Yes" to a rich man, there were great rejoicings at the parsonage, for she was one of seven, and the living being by no means a large one, Mr. Becket found some difficulty in making both ends meet.

However, no sooner had she married Polson and settled down in Bullshire as the Member's wife, than she must needs become a hunting-woman, and, as a hunting-woman and the Member's wife, give herself airs. Perhaps among her acquaintances there is no one that she hates with such a cordial hatred as poor unoffending Mrs. Talford, for although when she meets her the greeting (on her side at all events) is most effusive, still, deep down in her memory, rankles a speech that she once overheard Mrs. Talford make to her husband. She had come up rather late, just as the hounds were moving off, and the Colonel and his wife,[Pg 129] ignorant of her proximity, were discussing her powers of riding.

"My dear," said the Colonel, "I have not seen Mrs. Polson. Have you?"

"No," replied Mrs. Talford; "I don't suppose she is coming; it's rather a stiff country to-day;" and then, laughing, "how glad young Mr. Bevan will be. He said that she tacked herself on to him at Deanfield the other day, and after she had bored his life out for more than an hour, and made him open at least twenty gates, she asked him to come over some day and look at her hunters. It's a pity somebody can't tell her that men hate being bothered in the hunting-field."

Mrs. Polson's sudden appearance stopped further conversation on the subject. But from her over-affectionate manner ever since, Mrs. Talford knows perfectly well that the unlucky speech went farther than it was intended.

"Good morning, Tom. Got the dog-pack out to-day, I see, looking none the worse for[Pg 130] Saturday," says Mrs. Polson as she rides up, followed by a groom bearing at his back a large sandwich-case, and at his saddle-bow a holster-flask filled with sherry and water (for the Member's wife does not see the fun of hunting without her luncheon).

"Get away, good dog, get away; 'war hoss,'" to Bellman, who leaves the main body of the pack in order to make a closer inspection of Mrs. P. or the sandwich-case.

"Mornin', mum," replies old Tom, doffing his cap; and then to avoid further conversation he calls away Bellman and trots off to a distant point, bringing the hounds back at a walk to allow time for her to "collar someone else," as he puts it.

While he is away on his little tour we may just glance at the external appearance of the Member's wife. Certainly she is not a good riding figure, being of the order "dumpy," and her seat in the saddle reminds one strongly of a plum-pudding on a dish. Her habit is a close copy of Mrs. Talford's, with[Pg 131] the exception that it is much exaggerated. In the front of the collar, which is turned over, is displayed an elaborate necktie, with a fox's head painted on crystal as a pin, two heads of the same pattern serving as studs for her wristbands. She also affects the hunt-button, plain brass, with "B.H." in a monogram: and a hat-guard made of a small gold chain, secured to a most curly-brimmed hat by a fox's tooth, completes the dress; while the hunting-crop she carries in her fat little pudgy hand is more fitted for a First Whip than a lady, being, both heavy and cumbersome.

Tom evidently knows her pretty well, for before he returns from his self-imposed trot to his original place, Mrs. Polson has "collared someone else," and is making herself agreeable (or trying to) to two strangers who are staying with the Master for a week, and whom she has met at dinner at Lappington. A small group standing a little way off, after bowing, smile among themselves and pity the [Pg 132]innocent strangers who, as young Bevan says, are "being let in for a day in waiting." "It's a shame of Lappington not to have put them on their guard," he continues; "I shall tell him so."

"She landed you once, Bevan, did not she?" asks another, laughing.

"Yes, but never again," is the reply. "Five-and-twenty gates to open, a treatise on scent, the pedigree of every hound in the pack, and some weak sherry-and-water, hardly compensate one for missing one of the best things of the season. By gad, we never saw hounds from the time they found till they killed, and yet to hear the woman talk, you would ............