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George fell off his horse. Again.

And you didn't have anything to do with it?

...Actively or passively?

[...Yep, she's a Maturin.]

Either.

[He knows.]

I don't think I can be blamed simply because he fell while attempting to show off.

[Because she dared him. Semantics, really.]

[Tom just sighs. Because there was rarely an incident with George that didn't involve Brigid somehow.]

I may regret asking, but -- what exactly did he attempt to do?

Trying to jump the fence.

I managed it.

[But then, she inherited her father and mother's skills on a horse.]

Not too badly hurt, I take it?

[Nothing worse than his ego, probably.]

Just a bloody knee.

No tears?

...Maybe a few.

Right imp you are.

I did?

Is your name George too, sir?

Yes. Constable George Crabtree, miss. And I'm very pleased to hear that it's someone else who's taken the tumble, as I can't remember a thing about it.

Miss Brigid Maturin, sir.

The George that fell is George Aubrey, a friend of mine.

A pleasure.

I do hope he isn't injured too badly. Horses never appear so large as they are from the ground.