ook. But as a general thing Winthrop
rode on without paying heed to the direction he was taking; he could
always guide himself back after a fashion by the pocket-compass he
carried.

One afternoon Winthrop, out on the barren, saw in the distance a horse
and phaeton. There was no phaeton in all that country but his aunt's. He
rode across to see who was in it. To his surprise it was Garda; she was
leaning indolently back on the cushioned seat, the reins held idly in
her hand, an immense bunch of roses fastened in her belt. The horse was
one he did not know.

"Garda!--this you!" he said.

"Yes," she answered, laughing at his astonishment. "Everything was so
dull at the house that I thought I _must_ do something. So I did this."

"I wasn't aware that you knew how to drive?"

"This isn't driving."

"No, I hardly think it is," he answered, looking at her reclining figure
and the loose reins. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"Whose horse have you?--if I may ask another question."

"Madam Giron's; I sent Pablo to borrow it, as I did not like to take
your aunt's."

"Then they know what you are doing?"

"Pablo knows."

"And Margaret?"

"No, Margaret doesn't know. I should have told her, of course, if I
could have seen her, or rather, if I could have seen her, I should not
have come out at all. But that was the trouble--I couldn't see her; she
has been shut up in Mrs. Rutherford's room ever since early this
morning, and there's no prospect, according to Looth, of seeing her
until to-morrow."

"Yes, I feared my aunt was going to have one of her bad days."

"Of course I'm sorry, but that doesn't make the hours any shorter, that
I know of; there was no one to speak to; even you were away. _You_ have
the advantage of being able to leave the house whenever you like, and
staying out forever."

"Well, I've turned up now."

"I don't want you now; I've 'turned up' myself. Where are you going, may
I ask in my turn?"

"Going to drive you home."

"Not if you intend to tie that horse of yours at the back of the
phaeton, where he will nibble my shoulders all the way. But I'm not
going home yet; haven't I told you how dull it was there? I'm going on."

"I don't know about letting you go on; I'm not satisfied with the look
of that horse."

"Yes, he's the wildest one Madam Giron has; but that isn't very wild,"
said Garda, in a tone of regret.

"You are already over four miles from East Angels--"

"Delig