They were trotting along, Stanistreet driving, by a road that ran side by side with the fields scoured by the hunt, and Tyson could always be seen going recklessly and alone.

He could ride, he could ride! His worst enemy never doubted that.
"It's very odd," said she, "but the people here don't seem to like Nevill one bit.

I suppose they've never seen anything quite like him before." "I very much doubt if they have." "_I_ think they're afraid of him.

Mother is, I know; she blinks when she talks to him." "Does she blink when she talks to me ?" "Of course not--you're different." "I am not her son-in-law, certainly." "Do you know, though he's so much older than me--I simply shudder when I think he's thirty-seven--and so awfully clever, and _so_ bad-tempered, I'm not in the least afraid of him.

And he really has a shocking bad temper." "I know it of old." "So many nice people have bad tempers.