ching her horse, flew off in front.
"I hate dismal things."

Shelton bit his lips. It was not his fault that half the world was dark.
He knew her words were loosed against himself, and, as always at a sign
of her displeasure, was afraid. He galloped after her on the scorched
turf.

"What is it?" he said. "You 're angry with me!"

"Oh no!"

"Darling, I can't help it if things are n't cheerful. We have eyes," he
added, quoting from the letter.

Antonia did not look at him; but touched her horse again.

"Well, I don't want to see the gloomy side," she said, "and I can't see
why YOU should. It's wicked to be discontented;" and she galloped off.

It was not his fault if there were a thousand different kinds of men, a
thousand different points of view, outside the fence of her experience!
"What business," he thought, digging in his dummy spurs, "has our class
to patronise? We 're the only people who have n't an idea of what life
really means." Chips of dried turf and dust came flying back, stinging
his face. He gained on her, drew almost within reach, then, as though
she had been playing with him, was left hopelessly behind.

She stooped under the far hedge, fanning her flushed face with
dock-leaves:

"Aha, Dick! I knew you'd never catch me" and she patted the chestnut
mare, who turned her blowing muzzle with contemptuous humour towards
Shelton's steed, while her flanks heaved rapturously, gradually darkening
with sweat.

"We'd better take them steadily," grunted Shelton, getting off and
loosening his girths, "if we mean to get home at all."

"Don't be cross, Dick!"

"We oughtn't to have galloped them like this; they 're not in condition.
We'd better go home the way we came."

Antonia dropped the reins, and straightened her back hair.

"There 's no fun in that," she said. "Out and back again; I hate a dog's
walk."

"Very well," said Shelton; he would have her longer to himself!

The road led up and up a hill, and from the top a vision of Saxonia lay
disclosed in waves of wood and pasture. Their way branched down a
gateless glade, and Shelton sidled closer till his knee touched the
mare's off-flank.

Antonia's profile conjured up visions. She was youth itself; her eyes so
brilliant, and so innocent, her cheeks so glowing, and her brow
unruffled; but in her smile and in the setting of her jaw lurked
something resolute and mischievous. Shelton put his hand out to the
mare's mane.

"What made