, I feel easier, somehow,
when you don't go out with the hounds. I'd rather you wouldn't do such
rough riding."

"That's because like most men you have an ideal of a 'faire ladye,'" she
answered, mockingly. "I'm not sure, however, that the huntress hasn't
the best of it. What an empty existence the 'faire ladye' must have
led!"

At first I thought her determination was uttered in jest, and would not
endure through the night; but as the weeks and the months went by and
she still refused to consider the purchase of the various horses George
put through their paces before her, I realised that she really meant, as
she had said, to give up her brief dream of excelling Bonny. Then, for a
few months in the spring and summer, she turned to gardening with
passion, and aided by Dr. Theophilus and George, she planted a cart-load
of bulbs in our square of ground at the back. When I came up late now, I
would find the three of them poring over flower catalogues, with
gathered brows and thoughtful, enquiring faces.

"There's nothing like a love of the trowel for making friends," remarked
the old man, one May afternoon, when I found them resting from their
labours while they drank tea on the porch; "it's a pity you haven't time
to take it up, Ben. Now, young George there has developed a most
extraordinary talent for gardening that he never knew he possessed until
I cultivated it. I shouldn't wonder if it took the place of the horse
with him in the end. What do you say, Sally?" he added, turning to where
Sally and George were leaning together over the railing, with their eyes
on a bed of Oriental poppies. "I was telling Ben that I shouldn't wonder
if George's taste for flowers would not finally triumph over his fancy
for the horse."

For a minute Sally did not look round, and when at last she turned, her
face wore a defiant and reckless expression, as it had done that
afternoon when Beauchamp had thrown her.

"I'm not sure, doctor," she answered; "after all flowers are tame sport,
aren't they? And George is like me--what he wants is excitement."

"I'm sorry to hear that, my dear, a gentle and quiet pursuit is a source
of happiness. You remember what Horace says--"

"Ah, I know, doctor, but did even Horace remember what he said while he
was young?"

George was still gazing attentively down on the bed of Oriental poppies
at the foot of the steps, and though he had taken no part in the
conversation, something in his back, in the