Doubtless Gilbert Potter did not analyze the charm which it exercised
upon him; it was enough that he felt and submitted to it. A few quiet
remarks sufficed to draw from him the story of the chase, in all its
particulars, and the lively interest in Martha Deane's face, the
boisterous glee of Sally Fairthorn, with his own lurking sense of
triumph, soon swept every gloomy line from his visage. His mouth relaxed
from its set compression, and wore a winning sweetness; his eyes shone
softly-bright, and a nimble spirit of gayety gave grace to his
movements.

"Fairly won, I must say!" exclaimed Miss Sally Fairthorn, when the
narrative was finished. "And now, Gilbert, the brush?"

"The brush?"

"Who's to have it, I mean. Did you never get one before, as you don't
seem to understand?"

"Yes, I understand," said he, in an indifferent tone; "it may be had for
the asking."

"Then it's mine!" cried Sally, urging her heavy horse against him and
making a clutch at his cap. But he leaned as suddenly away, and shot a
length ahead, out of her reach. Miss Deane's horse, a light, spirited
animal, kept pace with his.

"Martha!" cried the disappointed damsel, "Martha! one of us must have
it; ask him, you!"