this was fortunate so far as it made way for Lord Brackenshaw's bringing her home. But now Mr Gascoigne said, with some emphasis, looking at Gwendolen—
"Well, the exploit has ended better for you than for Rex."
"Yes, I daresay he had to make a terrible round. You have not taught Primrose to take the fences, uncle," said Gwendolen, without the faintest shade of alarm in her looks and tone.
"Rex has had a fall," said Mr Gascoigne, curtly, throwing himself into an arm-chair, resting his elbows and fitting his palms and fingers together, while he closed his lips and looked at Gwendolen, who said—
"Oh, poor fellow! he is not hurt, I hope?" with a correct look of anxiety such as elated mortals try to superinduce when their pulses are all the while quick with triumph; and Mrs Davilow, in the same moment, uttered a low "Good heavens! There!"
Mr Gascoigne went on: "He put his shoulder out, and got some bruises, I believe." Here he made another little pause of observation; but Gwendolen, instead of any such symptoms as pallor and silence, had only deepened the compassionateness of her brow and eyes, and said
