"I didn't have horses when I was a young girl," Paula said to Graham;
"and the fact that I can now not only have them but breed them and
mold them to my heart's desire is always too good to be true.
Sometimes I can't believe it myself, and have to ride out and look
them over to make sure."

She turned her head and raised her eyes gratefully to Forrest; and
Graham watched them look into each other's eyes for a long half-
minute. Forrest's pleasure in his wife's pleasure, in her young
enthusiasm and joy of life, was clear to Graham's observation. "Lucky
devil," was Graham's thought, not because of his host's vast ranch and
the success and achievement of it, but because of the possession of a
wonder-woman who could look unabashed and appreciative into his eyes
as the Little Lady had looked.

Graham was meditating, with skepticism, Ernestine's information that
Paula Forrest was thirty-eight, when she turned to the colts and
pointed her riding whip at a black yearling nibbling at the spring
green.

"Look at that level rump, Dick," she said, "and those trotting feet
and pasterns." And, to Graham: "Rather different from Nymph's long
wrists, aren't they? But they're just what I was after." She laughed a
little, with just a shade of annoyance. "The dam was a bright sorrel--
almost like a fresh-minted twenty-dollar piece--and I did so want a
pair out of her, of the same color, for my own trap. Well, I can't say
that I exactly got them, although I bred her to a splendid, sorrel
trotting horse. And this is my reward, this black--and, wait till we
get to the brood mares and you'll see the other, a full brother and