Poor Dear Mamma.—Has Vermillion come round yet? Oh, yes! Captain Gadsby, don't you think that the saddle is too far forward? (They pass into the front verandah.)
Captain G. (aside).—How the dickens should I know what she prefers? She told me that she doted on horses. (Aloud.). I think it is.
Miss T. (coming out into front verandah).—Oh! Bad Buldoo! I must speak to the boy for this. He has taken up the curb two links, and Vermillion hates that. (Passes out, and to horse's head.)
Captain G.—Let me do it!
Miss T.—No, Vermillion understands me. Don't you, old man? (Looses curb-chain skilfully, and pats horse on nose and throttle.) Poor Vermillion! Did they want to cut his chin off? There!
Captain Gadsby watches the interlude with undisguised admiration.
Poor Dear Mamma. (tartly to Miss T).—You've forgotten your guest, I think, dear.
Miss T.—Good gracious! So I have! Good-bye. (Retreats indoors hastily.)
Poor Dear Mamma. (bunching reins in fingers hampered by too tight gauntlets).—Captain Gadsby!
Captain Gadsby stoops and makes the foot-rest. Poor dear Mamma blunders, halts too long, and breaks through it.
Captain G. (aside).—Must I hold up eleven stone for ever? It's all your rheumatism. (Aloud.) Can't imagine why I was so clumsy. (Aside.) Now Little Featherweight would have gone up like a bird.
They ride out of the garden. The Captain falls back.
Captain G. (aside).—How that habit catches her under the arms! Ugh!
Poor Dear Mamma. (with the worn smile of sixteen seasons, the worse for exchange).—You're dull this afternoon, Captain Gadsby.
