'Well,' I said, 'you had better get off now, as you didn't then, and
look at your animal's near fore. The swelling's as big as a bun
already.'

Again he made me no answer, but looked intently and questioningly at
Dora.

'Get off, Mr. Armour,' she said, sharply, 'and lead your horse home.
It is not fit to be ridden. Goodbye.'

I have no doubt he did it, but neither of us were inclined to look
back to see. We pushed on under the deodars, and I was indulgent to
a trot. At the end of it Dora remarked that Mr. Armour naturally
could not be expected to know anything about riding, it was very
plucky of him to get on a horse at all, among these precipices; and
I of course agreed.

Lord Arthur was waiting when we arrived, on his chestnut polo pony,
but Dora immediately scratched for the brilliant event in which they
were paired. Ronald, she said, was simply cooked with the heat.
Ronald had come every yard of the way on his toes and was fit for
anything, but Lord Arthur did not insist. There were young ladies
in Simla, I am glad to say, who appealed more vividly to his
imagination than Dora Harris did, and one of them speedily replaced
her, a fresh-coloured young Amazon who was staying at the Chief's.
She wandered about restlessly over the dry turf for a few minutes,
and then went and sat down in a corner of the little wooden Grand
Stand and sent me for a cup of tea.