breakfast) with an air of abstraction too precipitate to be quite
convincing.

"Moll," said Tyson, "if you're going to this meet, you'd better run
upstairs and put your things on."

"I don't want to go to any meets."

"Why not?"

"Because--I--I don't like to see other women riding."

"Bless her little heart!" (Tyson was particularly affectionate this
morning) "she's never had a bridle in her ridiculous hands, and she talks
about 'other women riding.'"

"Because I want to ride, and you won't let me, and I'm jealous."

"Well, if you mayn't ride with me, you may drive with Stanistreet."

"_I_ may drive Captain Stanistreet?"

"Certainly not; Captain Stanistreet may drive you."

"We'll see about that," said Mrs. Nevill Tyson as she left the room.

She soon reappeared, enchantingly pretty again in her laces and furs.

It was a glorious morning, the first thin white frost after a long thaw.
The meet was in front of the Cross-Roads Inn, about a mile out of Drayton