there ain't
no kind of scent, and I goes riding about these big woods, up and
down, till my shirt is as wet on my back with the sweat as though I'd
been pulled through the river." Then Lady Rufford walked away and did
not ask Tony any more questions.

Ayala was patting one of the hounds when the Colonel, who had given
his horse to a groom, came and joined her. "If you don't regret that
pony," said he, "somebody else does."

"I do regret him in one way, of course. I did like it very much; but
I don't think it nice, when much has been done for me, to say that I
want to have more done."

"Of course I knew what you meant."

"Perhaps you would go and tell Sir Harry, and then he would think me
very ungrateful."

"Ayala," he said, "I will never say anything of you that will make
anybody think evil of you. But, between ourselves, as Sir Harry is
not here, I suppose I may confess that I regret the pony."

"I should like it, of course," whispered Ayala.

"And so should I,--so much! I suppose all these men here would
think me an ass if they knew how little I care about the day's
work,--whether we find, or whether we run, or whether we kill,--just
because the pony is not here. If the pony were here I should have
that feeling of expectation of joy, which is so common to girls when
some much-thought-of ball or promised pleasure is just before them."
Then Tony went off with his hounds, and Jonathan, mounting his horse,
followed with the ruck.

Ayala knew very well what the pony meant, as spoken of by the
Colonel. When he declared that he regretted the pony, it was because
the pony might have carried herself. He had meant her to understand
that the much-thought-of ball or promised pleasure would have been
the delight of again riding with herself. And then he had again
called her Ayala. She could remember well every occasion on which
he had addressed her by her Christian name. It had been but seldom.
Once, however, it had occurred in the full flow of their early
intimacy, before that love-making had been begun. It had struck her
as being almost wrong, but still as very pleasant. If it might be
made right by some feeling of brotherly friendship, how pleasant
would it be! And now she would like it again, if only it might be
taken as a sign of friendship rather than of love. It never occurred
to her to be angry as she would have been angry with any other
man. How she would have looked at Captain Batsby had he dared to
call her