than any other.

"Well, your honour's ladyship," he began, with a glance at the hotel
ostler, who was standing near cleaning a bit in industrious and
sarcastic silence, "it is a fact, no doubt, that I mentioned here this
morning that this young mare was of the Government hackney stock. But,
according as I understand from this poor man that owns her, he bought
her in a small fair over the Tuam side, and the man that sold her could
take his oath she was by the Grey Dawn--sure you'd know it out of her
colour."

"Why didn't you say so before?" asked Miss Fitzroy, bending her straight
brows in righteous severity.

"Well, that's true indeed, your ladyship; but, after all--I declare a
man couldn't hardly live without he'd tell a lie sometimes!"

Fanny Fitz stooped, rather hurriedly, and entered upon a renewed
examination of the filly's legs. Even Rupert Gunning, after his brief
and unsympathetic survey, had said she had good legs; in fact, he had
only been able to crab her for the length of her back, and he, as Fanny
Fitz reflected with a heat that took no heed of metaphor, was the
greatest crabber that ever croaked.

"What are you asking for her?" she demanded with a sudden access of
decision.

There was a pause. The owner of the filly and his friend withdrew a step
or two and conferred together in Irish at lightning speed. The filly
held up her head and regarded her surroundings with guileless