I was compelled to negative the idea of trotting, since we were
descending quite the steepest pitch of the road down to Annandale.
We went on at a walk, and it occurred to me, as my contemplative
gaze fell on my own pig-skins, that we were, even for Simla, an
uncommonly well-turned-out pair. I had helped to pick Dora's hack,
and I allowed myself to reflect that he did my judgment credit. She
sat him perfectly in her wrath--she was plainly angry--not a hair
out of place. Why is it that a lady out of temper with her escort
always walks away from him? Is her horse sympathetic? Ronald, at
all events, was leading by a couple of yards, when suddenly he
shied, bounding well across the road.

The mare, whose manners I can always answer for, simply stopped and
looked haughtily about for explanations. A path dropped into the
road from the hillside; something came scrambling and stumbling
down.

'Oh!' cried Dora, as it emerged and was Armour on his much enduring
white pony, 'how you frightened us!'

'Why don't you stick to the road, man?' I exclaimed. 'It isn't
usual to put ponies up and down these coolie tracks!'

He took no notice of this rather broad hint that I was annoyed, but
fixed his eager, light, luminous eyes upon Dora.

'I'm sorry,' he said, and added, 'I did not expect to see you
today!'

'Not till tomorrow,' she returned. 'You remember that we are