"You've never asked me to try the new mare," she said. "I don't think it
a bit kind of you."
"Would you care to?" he asked eagerly.
"Of course I should. I love to see you with horses. You and the trap and
the horse seem to be as much one mechanism as a motor-car."
"I can make a horse do what I want," he said, delighted at the
compliment. "We'll take the dog-cart. When will you come? This morning?"
"Yes--let us say eleven. It will be lovely."
"I'll have it round at eleven o'clock. You'll see. She's a flyer."
"So am I," she said with a laugh, and pointed to the front gate, which a
garden lad had just run to open to admit a young man on horseback.
"Oh, lord! it's Banstead," said Dick with a groan.
"Au revoir--eleven o'clock," said Viviette, and she fled.
Lord Banstead dismounted, gave his horse to the lad, and came up to
Dick. He was an unhealthy, dissipated-looking young man, with lustreless
eyes, a characterless chin, and an underfed moustache. He wore a light
blue hunting stock, fastened by a ruby fox in full gallop, and a round
felt hat with a very narrow flat brim, beneath which protruded strands
of Andrew aguecheek hair.
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