Dulcie had exchanged a few remarks with her. Now she turned to me.

"Mike," she said, "I want to introduce you to Mrs. Stapleton. Mrs.
Stapleton, do you know Mr. Berrington?"

The beautiful young widow, gazing down at me as I looked up at her and
raised my hat, presently made some complimentary remark about my mount
and the way she jumped, then added:

"I noticed her all through the run--she's just the stamp of animal I
have been looking for. Is she for sale, by any chance, Mr. Berrington?"

I replied that the mare was not mine, that she must ask Miss Challoner
or Sir Roland. For the instant it struck me as odd that, hunting
regularly with this pack, she should not have recognized the animal,
for I knew that Dulcie rode it frequently. Then I remembered that some
people can no more recognize horses than they can recognize their casual
friends when they meet them in the street, and the thought faded.

There was talk of digging out the fox--an operation which Dulcie and I
equally detested--and that, added to the knowledge that we were many
miles from Holt, also that our horses had had enough, made us decide to
set out for home.

Looking back, for some reason, as we walked our horses away from the
cover-side towards the nearest lane, I noticed the young widow seated
erect upon her black horse, staring after us. I turned to shut the gate,
after we had passed into the lane; she was still sitting there, outlined
against the wood and apparently still staring in our direction.