d polished phrase, or
the refinements of the French language--were determined to take what
liberties she liked. To the girl, haunted still by the feeling that she
could fly, almost drunk on the sweetness of the air that summer morning,
it seemed funny that anyone should be like that. Then for a second
she saw her grandmother's face in repose, off guard, grim with anxious
purpose, as if questioning its hold on life; and in one of those flashes
of intuition which come to women--even when young and conquering like
Barbara--she felt suddenly sorry, as though she had caught sight of the
pale spectre never yet seen by her. "Poor old dear," she thought; "what
a pity to be old!"

But they had entered the footpath crossing three long meadows which
climbed up towards Mrs. Noel's. It was so golden-sweet here amongst the
million tiny saffron cups frosted with lingering dewshine; there was
such flying glory in the limes and ash-trees; so delicate a scent from
the late whins and may-flower; and, on every tree a greybird calling to
be sorry was not possible!

In the far corner of the first field a chestnut mare was standing, with
ears pricked at some distant sound whose charm she alone perceived. On
viewing the intruders, she laid those ears back, and a little vicious
star gleamed out at the corner of her eye. They passed her and entered
the second field. Half way across, Barbara said quietly:

"Granny, that's a bull!"

It was indeed an enormous bull, who had been standing behind a clump
of bushes. He was moving slowly towards them, still distant about two
hundred yards; a great red beast, with the huge development of neck and
front which makes the bull, of all living creatures, the symbol of brute
force.

Lady Casterley envisaged him severely.

"I dislike bulls," she said; "I think I must walk backward."

"You can't; it's too uphill."

"I am not going to turn back," said Lady Casterley. "The bull ought not
to be here. Whose fault is it? I shall speak to someone. Stand still and
look at him. We must prevent his coming nearer."

They stood still and looked at the bull, who continued to approach.

"It doesn't stop him," said Lady Casterley. "We must take no notice.
Give me your arm, my dear; my legs feel rather funny."

Barbara put her arm round the little figure. They walked on.

"I have not been used to bulls lately," said Lady Casterley. The bull
came nearer.

"Granny," said Barbara, "you must go quietly on to the sti