George and Honoria stood by the stable-door and watched the saddling. The horses were led out; Sir Harry’s, a tall grey, George’s, a roan cob.
“Look here!” Sir Harry said to Jim; “you take my bird, and comfort your master with him. I don’t want him any more.”
The two rode out of the yard and away up the avenue. Honoria planted herself in front of Taffy.
“Would you have fought just now?” she asked.
“I—I don’t know. That’s my father calling.”
“But, would you have fought?”
“I must go to him.” He would not look her in the face.
“Tell me.”
“Don’t bother! I don’t know.”
He ran out of the yard.