The night was warm in spite of the gentle breeze which fanned
Marguerite's burning cheeks. Soon London houses were left behind, and
rattling over old Hammersmith Bridge, Sir Percy was driving his bays
rapidly towards Richmond.
The river wound in and out in its pretty delicate curves,
looking like a silver serpent beneath the glittering rays of the moon.
Long shadows from overhanging trees spread occasional deep palls right
across the road. The bays were rushing along at breakneck speed, held
but slightly back by Sir Percy's strong, unerring hands.
These nightly drives after balls and suppers in London were a
source of perpetual delight to Marguerite, and she appreciated her
husband's eccentricity keenly, which caused him to adopt this mode of
taking her home every night, to their beautiful home by the river,
instead of living in a stuffy London house. He loved driving his
spirited horses along the lonely, moonlit roads, and she loved to sit
on the box-seat, with the soft air of an English late summer's night
fanning her face after the hot atmosphere of a ball or supper-party.
The drive was not a long one--less than an hour, sometimes, when the
bays were very fresh, and Sir Percy gave them full rein.
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