"A horse is the best companion of all," says Mr. Woodleigh, his eyes
bent on her charming little face.

"I'm not sure, the dogs are so kind, so affectionate; they _want_
one so," says Tita. "And yet a horse--oh, I _do_ love my last
mount--a brown mare! She's lying up now."

"You ride, then?" says Sir Maurice.

"Ride! you bet!" says Tita. She rolls over on the rug, and, resting
on her elbows, looks up at him; Lady Rylton watching, shudders.
"I've been in the saddle all my life. Just before I came here I had
a real good run--my uncle's groom had one horse, I had the other; it
was over the downs. _I_ won."

She rests her chin upon her hands.

Lady Rylton's face pales with horror. A race with a groom!

"Your uncle must give you good mounts," says Mr. Woodleigh.

"It is all he _does_ give me," says the girl, with a pout. "Yes; I
may ride, but that is all. I never _see_ anybody--there is nobody to
see; my uncle knows nobody."

Lady Rylton makes an effort. It is growing _too_ dreadful. She turns
to Mrs. Chichester.

"Why don't you play?" asks she.