t wondered whether Mrs. Nevill was very simple or very
profound. And wondering, he gave the mare a cut across the flanks that
made her leap in the shafts.

"That was silly of you. She'll have her heels through before you know
where you are. She's a demon to kick, is Scarum."

Scarum had spared the splash-board this time, but she was going
furiously, and the little dog-cart rocked from side to side. Mrs.
Nevill Tyson rose to her feet.

"Strikes me you can't drive a little bit," said she.

"Please sit down, Mrs. Tyson." But Mrs. Tyson remained imperiously
standing, trying to keep her balance like a small sailor in a
rollicking sea.

"Get up."

Stanistreet muttered wrathfully under his mustache, and she caught the
words "damned foolery."

"Bundle out this minute." She made a grab at the rail in an undignified
manner.

He doubled the reins firmly over his right hand, and with his left arm he
forced her back into her seat. He was holding her there when Farmer Ashby
turned out of a by-lane and followed close behind them. And Farmer Ashby
had a nice tale to tell at "The Cross-Roads" of how he had seen the
Captain driving with his arm round Mrs. Tyson's waist.

That was another stone.

Stanistreet tugged at the reins with both hands and pulled the mare
almost on to her haunches; her hoofs shrieked on the iron road; she stood
still and snorted, her forelegs well out, her hide smoking.

When he had made quite sure that the animal's attitude was that of
temporary exhaustion rather than of passion, Stanistreet changed seats,
and gave the reins to Mrs. Nevill Tyson; and Scarum burst into her
second heat.

"I suppose you have a right to drive your own animal into the ditch,"
said he.

Mrs. Nevill Tyson set her teeth with a determined air, planted her feet
firmly on the floor of the trap to give herself a good purchase; she gave
the reins a little twist as she had seen Stanistreet do, she balanced the
whip like a fishing-rod, with the line dangling over Scarum's ears, and
then she rattled away over the wrinkling roads at a glorious pace; she
reeled over cart-ruts, she went thump over sods and bump over mud-heaps,
she grazed walls and hedges, skimmed over the brink of ditches, careened
round corners, and tore past most things on the wrong side; and
Stanistreet's sense of deadly peril was lost in the pleasure of seeing
her do it. When she was not chattering to him she was encouraging Scarum
with all sorts of endearment