wo front horsemen and the two back.

At first Carew rode along with his eyes fixed rigidly on the horizon,
and, except for its innate strength, an almost expressionless face.
Meryl was a little amused. She realised thoroughly that the situation
was none of his seeking, and she was in two minds whether to give him
expressionless rigidity in return, or purposely tease him with
questions. At first she chose silence, and looked around her with eyes
of growing tenderness at the kopje-strewn country.

And so, instead of being irritated with the "small talk" he dreaded,
Carew found himself left entirely to his own cogitations; while,
judging from her rapt expression, she scarcely realised his presence.
And then, just because human nature is stronger, after all, than most
things, memory, for the sake of a dream-face he would treasure while
he had breath, made him look at her covertly with seeing eyes. He
noted first that she was a perfect horsewoman--slim and upright and
easy, almost like a part of her horse. Both girls rode astride,
wearing long holland coats and specially made light top-boots, with
large shady sun helmets; and because for a long time he had not seen
anything much but slipshod garments among women riders, or exceedingly
warm-looking correct home attire, he appreciated their cool smartness.

Unconsciously it took him back to the old buried days, when the
Devonshire moors and Devonshire lanes knew no hotter rider than Peter
Carew. To the steeplechases, when he was so slim and wiry that, in
spite of his height, he had ridden many a horse to victory. To the
polo matches, when his matchless horsemanship had scored goal after
goal for his regiment of picked riders. She recalled to his mind the
stag-hunting in Devon and Somerset, where the first women had ridden
astride to the meet, realising mercifully how the steep ascents and
descents were eased for their horses, without the tightly girthed
side-saddle, and for themselves without the side-seat strain. Almost
as if it were a carefully permitted luxury, he saw the wide,
wind-swept moors, heard the cheery shouts and the excited hounds, felt
his thoroughbred sweeping gloriously along, as if its soul and his
soul were both one in feeling the joy and exhilaration of the chase.
What glories there were in those wind-swept, sun-bathed mornings in
Devon! What joy of life! What lust of manhood! What splendid,
whole-hearted young inconsequence! In his heart he smiled a litt