"Oh, I'm a _sight_. He chucked me into some bushes, Titine--"

"That terrible horse--Mademoiselle!"

"The same--into some very sticky bushes--but he didn't get away. I got
on without help, too. Lordy, but I _did_ take it out of him! Oh,
didn't I!"

Her eye lighted gaily as though in challenge at nothing at all as she
removed her gloves and tossed her hat and crop on the bed and sprawled
into a chair with a sigh, while Titine removed her boots and made
tremulous and reproachful inquiries.

"Mademoiselle--will--will kill herself, I am sure."

Hermia Challoner laughed.

"Better die living--than be living dead. Besides, no one ever dies
who doesn't care whether he dies or not. I shall die comfortably in
bed at the age of eighty-three, I'm sure of it. Now, my bath.
_Vite_, Titine! I have a hunger like that which never was before."

Miss Challoner undressed and entered her bathroom, where she splashed
industriously for some minutes, emerging at last radiant and glowing
with health and a delight in the mere joy of existence. While Titine
brushed her hair, the girl sat before her dressing-table putting
lotion on her injured cheeks and temple. Her hair arranged, she sent
the maid for her breakfast tray while she finished her toilet in
leisurely fashion and went into her morning room. The suede slippers