She could see him talking to her father, and taking out a wisp of a
handkerchief that smelled of cyclamen, she had a good scrub round. When
she rode up, the young man raised his hat, and looking full at her said:
"You did go!" His voice, rather high-pitched, had in it a spice of
pleasant laziness. Gyp made him an ironical little bow, and murmured:
"My new horse, you mean." He broke again into that irrepressible smile,
but, all the same, she knew that he admired her. And she kept thinking:
'Where HAVE I seen someone like him?'

They had two more runs, but nothing like that first gallop. Nor did she
again see the young man, whose name--it seemed--was Summerhay, son of a
certain Lady Summerhay at Widrington, ten miles from Mildenham.

All that long, silent jog home with Winton in fading daylight, she felt
very happy--saturated with air and elation. The trees and fields, the
hay-stacks, gates, and ponds beside the lanes grew dim; lights came up in
the cottage windows; the air smelled sweet of wood smoke. And, for the
first time all day, she thought of Fiorsen, thought of him almost
longingly. If he could be there in the cosy old drawing-room, to play to
her while she lay back--drowsing, dreaming by the fire in the scent of
burning cedar logs--the Mozart minuet, or that little heart-catching tune
of Poise, played the first time she heard him, or a dozen other of the
things he played unaccompanied! That would be the most lovely ending to
this lovely day. Just the glow and warmth wanting, to make all
perfect--the glow and warmth of music and adoration!

And touching the mare with her heel, she sighed. To indulge fancies
about music and Fiorsen was safe here, far away from him; she even
thought she would not mind if he were to behave again as he had under the
birch-trees in the rain at Wiesbaden. It was so good to be adored. Her
old mare, ridden now six years, began the series of contented snuffles
that signified she smelt home. Here was the last turn, and the loom of
the short beech-tree avenue to the house--the old manor-house,
comfortable, roomy, rather dark, with wide shallow stairs. Ah, she was
tired; and it was drizzling now. She would be nicely stiff to-morrow.
In the light coming from the open door she saw Markey standing; and while
fishing from her pocket the usual lumps of sugar, heard him say: "Mr.
Fiorsen, sir--gentleman from Wiesbaden--to see you."

Her heart thumped. What did this mean? Why had