woman's keenness, underrating no point of attraction in her friend, she
considered her wanting in style, which deficiency she dwelt on now with
secret satisfaction. For though not in the least anxious to monopolize
general admiration, that of Bertie Du Meresq was unfortunately a
sensitive point with Cecil, for that six weeks had been the intensest
period of her life--the dawning of "love's young dream."

She had never met him since childhood till then, when they were thrown
together with the intimacy of near connexions. There was not, of course,
the slightest real relationship, but Bertie jestingly called her his
niece, perhaps, to establish a right of chaperonage.

He used to make her come down to breakfast _en Amazone_, and took her the
most enchanting rides in that Seductive April weather. Her equestrian
experience previously had been limited to steady macadamizing on the
roads. Bertie took her as the crow flies, never pulled a fence, but
merely gave her a lead, and Cecil, who had plenty of nerve, exulted in
the new excitement. The farmers might not have thought it a very orthodox
month for this amusement; but hunting was scarcely over, though the
copses were filled with primroses, and violets scented the hedgerows; the
birds sang as they only do when the great business of their year is
commencing. And then she had such a mount, a perfect hunter of her
_quasi_-uncle's. It never refused, and took its fences with such ease a
child might have sat it.

Or they would ride dreamily on in woody glades, both alike susceptible
to the shafts of sunlight, quivering on the leaves, the sudden gush
of fragrance after a shower, and all the myriad appeals of spring to
those who have that touch of poetry in their clay which is the key of
fairy-land, their horses meantime snatching at the young green boughs as