that to Mortimer it simply meant a
phase of life he considered quite outside the pale of recognized
respectability. Somehow she felt that Mike's encomium had lowered her
perceptibly in the opinion of this man whom she herself affected to look
upon with but toleration.

They visited all the other stalls, eight of them, and listened to Mike's
eulogies on the inmates. Coming down the other side of the passage, the
last occupied box stall contained Lauzanne.

"Miss Porter'll tell ye about this wan," said Mike, diplomatically.
"He's shaped like a good horse, an' his sire, old Lazzarone, landed many
a purse, an' the 'Suburban,' too--won it on three legs, fer he was clean
gone in his pins, I'll take me oath to that. He was a good horse--whin
he liked. Perhaps Lauzanne'll do the same some day, fer all I know."

There was such a tone of doubt in the Trainer's voice that even Mortimer
noticed it. Neither was there much praise of the big Chestnut; evidently
Mike did not quite approve of him, though hesitating to say so in the
presence of his mistress.

"Yes, Lauzanne is my horse," volunteered Allis. "I even ride him in all
his work now, since he took to eating the stable-boy."

"And you're not afraid?" asked Mortimer.

For answer the girl slipped quietly into the stall, and going up beside
the Chestnut, who was standing sulkily with his head in the corner of
his box, took him by the ear and turned him gently around.

"He's just a quiet-mannered chap, that's all," she said. "He's a
big, lazy, contented old boy," and she laid her cheek against his
fawn-colored nozzle. "You see," she explained, "he's got more brains
than any of the other horses, and when he's abused he knows it."

"But he's grateful when he's kindly treated," commented Mortimer.

"Yes; that's why I like horses better than men."

"Oh!" the exclamation slipped from Mortimer's lips.

"Most men, I mean," she explained. "Of course, father, and Alan, and--"
she hesitated; "you see," she went on to explain, "the number of my men
friends is limited; but except these, and Mike, and Mr. Dixon, I like
the horses best."

"I almost believe you're right, Miss Porter," concurred Mortimer; "I've
known men myself that I fancy were much worse than even Diablo."

"Mike thinks Lauzanne is a bad horse," the girl said, changing the
subject, "but he'll win a big race this coming season. You just keep
your eye on Lauzanne. Here's your carrot, old chap," she said, stroking
the