"And so you think I cannot ride properly!" added the girl quietly,
arranging her wind-blown hair.

"Oh, yes. But women can't really ride class, you know. It isn't in
them."

She laughed a little. "I'm satisfied now. You know I was at the Carter
Handicap last year."

"Yes?" said Garrison, unmoved. He met her eyes fairly.

"Yes, you know Rogue, father's horse, won. They say Sis, the favorite,
had the race, but was pulled in the stretch." She was smiling a little.

"Indeed?" murmured Garrison, with but indifferent interest.

She glanced at him sharply, then fell to pleating the gelding's mane.
"Um-m-m," she added softly. "Billy Garrison, you know, rode Sis."

"Oh, did he?"

"Yes. And, do you know, his seat was identical with yours?" She turned
and eyed him steadily.

"I'm flattered."

"Yes," she continued dreamily, the smile at her lips; "it's funny, of
course, but Billy Garrison used to be my hero. We silly girls all have
one."