ht. She
shies at everything after dark."

"She's the only horse I care for--the others are all cows," she
murmured, releasing her hands impatiently.

"Well, you must take me with you the next time you ride her."

She softened a little, in spite of herself. Riding was the only
amusement he cared to share with her, and the thought of a long gallop
across the plains at his side brought back the warmth to her veins.

"Yes, we'll go tomorrow. How long do you mean to stay?" she asked,
looking up at him eagerly.

He was pleased that she should wish to know, yet the question
embarrassed him, for it was necessary that he should be back at Westmore
within three days, and he could not put her off with an evasion.

Bessy saw his hesitation, and her colour rose again. "I only asked," she
explained, "because there is to be a fancy ball at the Hunt Club on the
twentieth, and I thought of giving a big dinner here first."

Amherst did not understand that she too had her inarticulate moments,
and that the allusion to the fancy ball was improvised to hide an
eagerness to which he had been too slow in responding. He thought she
had enquired about his plans only that he might not again interfere with
the arrangements of her dinner-table. If that was all she cared about,
it became suddenly easy to tell her that he could not stay, and he
answered lightly: "Fancy balls are a little out of my line; but at any
rate I shall have to be back at the mills the day after tomorrow."

The disappointment brought a rush of bitterness to her lips. "The day
after tomorrow? It seems hardly worth while to have come so far for two
days!"

"Oh, I don't mind the journey--and there are one or two matters I must
consult you about."

There could hardly have been a more ill-advised answer, but Amherst was
reckless now. If she cared for his coming only that he might fill a
place at a fancy-dress dinner, he would let her see that he had come
only because he had to go through the form of submitting to her certain
measures to be taken at Westmore.

Bessy was beginning to feel the physical reaction of her struggle with
the mare. The fatigue which at first had deadened her nerves now woke
them to acuter sensibility, and an appealing word from her husband would
have drawn her to his arms. But his answer seemed to drive all the blood
back to her heart.

"I don't see why you still go through the form of consulting me about
Westmore, when you have always done j