But Mrs. Peyton's reply of "Ah, indeed," albeit polite, indicated some
coldness and lack of animation. Clarence rose quickly, but cast a long
and lingering look around him.

"You will come again, Mr. Brant," said the lady more graciously. "If you
are going to ride now, perhaps you would try to meet Mr. Peyton. He is
late already, and I am always uneasy when he is out alone,--particularly
on one of those half-broken horses, which they consider good enough for
riding here. YOU have ridden them before and understand them, but I am
afraid that's another thing WE have got to learn."

When the young man found himself again confronting the glittering light
of the courtyard, he remembered the interview and the soft twilight of
the boudoir only as part of a pleasant dream. There was a rude awakening
in the fierce wind, which had increased with the lengthening shadows.
It seemed to sweep away the half-sensuous comfort that had pervaded
him, and made him coldly realize that he had done nothing to solve the
difficulties of his relations to Susy. He had lost the one chance of
confiding to Mrs. Peyton,--if he had ever really intended to do so.
It was impossible for him to do it hereafter without a confession of
prolonged deceit.

He reached the stables impatiently, where his attention was attracted
by the sound of excited voices in the corral. Looking within, he was
concerned to see that one of the vacqueros was holding the dragging
bridle of a blown, dusty, and foam-covered horse, around whom a dozen
idlers were gathered. Even beneath its coating of dust and foam and
the half-displaced saddle blanket, Clarence immediately recognized the
spirited pinto mustang which Peyton had ridden that morning.