I say, Mortimer, do you want that roan hunter of mine you looked over?
I mean King Dermid, because Marion Page wants him, if you don't.

She was out this morning, and she spoke of it again." Mortimer, lifting a replenished glass, shook his head, and drank thirstily in silence.
"Saw you at Westbury, I think," said Fleetwood politely to Plank, as the two lifted their glasses to one another.
"I hunted there for a day or two," replied Plank, modestly.

"If it's that big Irish thoroughbred you were riding that you want to sell I'd like a look in, if Miss Page doesn't fancy him." Fleetwood laughed, and glanced amusedly at Plank over his glass.

"It isn't that horse, Mr.Plank.

That's Drumceit, Stephen Siward's famous horse." He interrupted himself to exchange greetings with several men who came into the room rather noisily, their spurs resounding across the oaken floor.