twenty-five. She was there before him, dressed all in blue, except the
white shoes and stockings, weighing herself on the machine in the yard.
She showed her teeth, told him she weighed nine stone one, and abruptly
asked him if he could drive. He said he could. She clapped her hands and
sprang off the machine. Her father had bought a new mare the day before,
and it was in the Turk's Head stable, and the yardman said it wanted
exercise, and there was a dogcart and harness idling about, and, in
short, Ellis should drive her to Sneyd Park, which she had long desired
to see.

Ellis wished to ask questions, but the moment did not seem auspicious.

In a few minutes the new mare, a high and somewhat frisky bay, with big
shoulders, was in the shafts of a high, green dogcart. When asked if he
could drive, Ellis ought to have answered: 'That depends--on the horse.'
Many men can tool a fifteen-year-old screw down a country lane who would
hesitate to get up behind a five-year-old animal (in need of exercise)
for a spin down Broad Street, Hanbridge, on Knype Wakes Sunday. Ellis
could drive; he could just drive. His father had always steadfastly
refused to keep horses, but the fathers of other dogs were more
progressive, and Ellis had had opportunities. He knew how to take the
reins, and get up, and give the office; indeed, he had read a handbook
on the subject. So he rook the reins and got up, and the Wakes girl got
up.

He chirruped. The mare merely backed.

'Give 'er 'er mouth,' said the yardman disgustedly.

'Oh!' said Ellis, and slackened the reins, and the mare pawed forward.