"Yes, you get some fine scenery inland," replied Trenby. "And the roads are good for motoring. I suppose you don't ride?" he added.
"Well"--a trifle awkwardly--"one doesn't expect a Londoner to know much about country pursuits."
"Are you imagining I've spent all my life in a Seven Dials slum?" she asked serenely.
"But country people take a very limited view of a Londoner. We _do_ sometimes get out of town, you know--and some of us can ride and play games quite nicely! As a matter of fact I hunted when I was about six."
"Oh, then I hope you're staying at Mallow till the hunting season starts? I've a lovely mare I could lend you if you'd let me."
Nan shook her head and made a hasty gesture of dissent.
"Oh, no, no. Quite honestly, I've not ridden for years--and even if I took up riding once more I should never hunt again. I think"--she shrank a little--"it's too cruel."
Trenby regarded her with ingenuous amazement.
"Cruel!" he exclaimed. "Why, it's sport!"
"Magic word!" Nan's lips curled a little. "You say it's 'sport' as though that made it all right."
"So it does," answered Trenby contentedly.
"It may--for the sportsman. But as far as the fox is concerned, it's sheer cruelty."
Trenby drove on without speaking for a short time. Then he said slowly:
"Well, in a way I suppose you're right. But, all the same, it's the sporting instinct--the cultivated sporting instinct--which has made the Englishman what he is. It's that which won the war, you know."
"It's a big price to pay. Couldn't you"--a sudden charming smile curving her lips--"couldn't you do it--I mean cultivate the sporting instinct--by polo and things like that?"
"It's not the same." Trenby shook his head. "You don't understand. It's the desire to find your quarry, to go through anything rather than to let him beat you--no matter how done or tired you feel."
"It may be very good for you," allowed Nan. "But it's very bad luck on the fox. I wouldn't mind so much if he had fair play. But even if he succeeds in getting away from you--beating _you_, in fact--and runs to earth, you proceed to dig him out. I call that _mean_."
Trenby was silent again for a moment. Then he asked suddenly:
"What would you do if your husband hunted?"
"Put up with it, I suppose, just as I should put up with his other faults--if I loved him."