he saw her again; she was riding alone, across
country, through the rocky knolls and marshy pools that form the
southern part of Rhode Island. She had no groom lagging behind, but it
was not so necessary then as now; and, indeed, a groom would have had a
hard time to keep up with her, as she rattled up the granite slopes and
down over logs and bushes with her bright bay horse. The last Pinckney
saw of her she disappeared over a rocky hill against the sky; her
beautiful horse flecked with foam, quivering with happy animal life,
and the girl calm as a figure carved in stone, with but the faintest
touch of rose upon her face, as the pure profile was outlined one
moment against the sunlit blue.

"How recklessly she rides!" whispered Miss Austin to him, and Pinckney
said _yes_, absently, and, whipping up his horse, drove on, pretending
to listen to his fiancee's talk. It seemed to be about dresses, and
rings, and a coming visit to the B------s, at Nahant. He had never seen
a girl like her before; she was a puzzle to him.

"It is a great pity she is engaged to Mr. Breeze," said Miss Austin;
and Pinckney woke up with a start, for he was thinking of Miss Warneld
too.

"Why?" said he.

"I don't like him," said Emily. "He isn't good enough for her."

As this is a thing that women say of all wooers after they have won,
and which the winner is usually at that period the first to admit,
Pinckney paid little attention to this remark. But that evening he met
Miles Breeze, saw him, talked with him, and heard others talk of him. A
handsome man, physically; well made, well dressed, well fed; well bred,
as breeding goes in dogs or horses; a good shot, a good sportsman,
yachtsman, story-teller; a good fellow, with a weak mouth; a man of
good old Maryland blood, yet red and healthy, who had come there in his
yacht and had his horses sent by sea. A well-appointed man, in short;
provided amply with the conveniences of fashionable life. A man of good
family, good fortune, good health, good sense, good nature, whom it
were hypercritical to charge with lack of soul. "The first duty of a
gentleman is to be a good animal," and Miles Breeze performed it
thoroughly. Pinckney liked him, and he could have been his companion
for years and still have liked him, except as a husband for Miss
Warfield.

He could not but recognize his excellence as a _parti_. But the race of
Joan of Arc does not mate with Bon-homme Richard, even when he owns the
ne