"I will."

"Thank you!" said Walter with fervor.

As by consent, they rode after the others.

Walter had not yet the courage to say anything definite. But he had said
many things that must have compelled her to imagine what he had not
said; therefore the promise she had given him seemed encouraging. They
rode in silence the rest of the way.

When Sefton saw Red Racket as quiet as a lamb, he went up to him,
stroked his neck, and said to Walter:

"With me he would have capered like an idiot till he had thrown me. It
is always my luck with horses of his color! You must have a light hand!"

He stroked his neck once more, turned aside, and was too late to help
the ladies dismount.

It was the last ride for the present, because of a change in the
weather. In a few days came "The Field Battery" with Walter's review,
bringing a revival of the self-reproach he had begun to forget. The
paper felt in his hand like bad news or something nasty. He could not
bear the thought of having to take his part in the talk it would
occasion. It could not now be helped, however, and that was a great
comfort! It was impossible, none the less, to keep it up! As he had
foreseen, all this time came no revival of his first impression of the
poem. He went to find his hostess, and told her he must go to London