his.
On the contrary she held out her hand to him.

Of course Peter took it. He did not stop to ask if it was right or wrong
to hold a young girl's hand. If it was wrong, it was certainly a very
small one, judging from the size of the hand.

"I was so mortified! But if it's you it's all right."

Peter thought this mood of the girl was both delightful and
complimentary, but he failed to understand anything of it, except its
general friendliness. His manner may have suggested this, for suddenly
the girl said:

"But of course, you do not know who I am? How foolish of me! I am
Leonore D'Alloi."

It was Peter's turn to gasp. "Not--?" he began and then stopped.

"Yes," said the girl joyfully, as if Peter's "not" had had something
delightful in it.

"But--she's a child."

"I'll be eighteen next week," said Leonore, with all the readiness of
that number of years to proclaim its age.

Peter concluded that he must accept the fact. Watts could have a child
that old. Having reached this conclusion, he said, "I ought to have
known you by your likeness to your mother." Which was an unintentional
lie. Her mother's eyes she had, as well as the long lashes; and she had
her mother's pretty figure, though she was taller. But otherwise she was
far more like Watts. Her curly hair, her curvy mouth, the dimple, and
the contour of the face were his. Leonore D'Alloi was a far greater
beauty than her mother had ever been. But to Peter, it was merely a
renewal of his dream.

Just at this point the groom rode up. "Beg pardon, Miss D'Alloi," he
said, touching his cap. "My 'orse went down on a bit of hice."

"You are not hurt, Belden?" said Miss D'Alloi.

Peter thought the anxious tone heavenly. He rather wished he had broken
something himself.

"No. Nor the 'orse."

"Then it's all right. Mr. Stirling, we need not interrupt your ride.
Belden will see me home."

Belden see her home! Peter would see him do it! That was what Peter
thought. He said, "I shall ride with you, of course." So they started
their horses, the groom dropping behind.

"Do you want to try it again?" asked Mutineer of the roan.

"No," said the mare. "You are too big and strong."

Leonore was just saying: "I could hear the pound of a horse's feet
behind me, but I thought it was the groom, and knew he could never
overtake Fly-away. So when I felt the saddle begin to slip, I thought I
was--was going to be dragged--as I once saw a woman in England--Oh!--and
th