"It was, rather," admitted the young man. "But it gave me my head in one way. You see, father didn't approve of horses, though he was a farmer's son himself. He was afraid of the Turf. But he was always very good to me. He let me hunt when I was a boy though he didn't like it." The young man laughed. "But when I grew big he was awfully pleased. 'You'll never make a jockey now,' he used to say. And I never shall."
Boy ran her eye approvingly over his loose, big-limbed figure.
"You play polo, don't you?" she said.
"I do, a bit," he admitted.
"Back for England, isn't it?" she asked.
"This old pony did," Silver answered. "And he used to take me along sometimes."
"Don't you play still?" she inquired.
"I haven't this season, and I sha'n't again," he answered. "To play first-class polo you must be in the top of condition. And they keep my nose too close to the grindstone. Besides, pup-polo's very jolly, but 'chasing's the thing!"
They topped the brow. The crest of the Downs swelled away before them like a great green carpet lifted by the wind.
"There they are!" cried Boy, beginning to canter.