“A little, when he is fresh; but he knows me. All the grooms are afraid of him, and he knows that; but I’m not a bit afraid of you, am I?” addressing herself once more to her steed, and emphasizing her remark with a touch of her whip.
His reply was a plunge that would have unseated a less experienced rider. Another touch of the whip—another plunge.
Captain Vaughan looked askance at his friend. For a man who had just won a race, on an awkward horse, in a first-class manner, he looked decidedly nervous. Never had Captain Vaughan seen fear written on Reginald Fairfax’s face till now, and there it was plainly to be seen, as Cardigan executed plunge after plunge before them down the road. Subdued at last by his mistress’s voice, they again joined the dog-cart.
“Alice,” said her husband, administering a wicked but quiet cut to the dog-cart horse, “you’ll never ride Cardigan again after to-day.”
“Oh, shan’t I? Who is to prevent me?” she asked, innocent wonder depicted on her pretty face.
“I will,” he replied emphatically.
“Do not be too sure of that,” she returned, with a smile at Captain Vaughan that exasperated her husband beyond description. “Farewell for the present; here is a lovely piece of turf,” and with a careless wave of her hand she turned off the avenue and was soon galloping away across the park at the top of Cardigan’s speed.
The two young men watched her in dead silence till she disappeared behind a clump of trees.
“By Jove, how she rides!” exclaimed Captain Vaughan in a tone of enthusiastic admiration.
“Vaughan,” said his friend solemnly, as he withdrew his eyes from the vanishing horsewoman, “let me give you a piece of advice; take it as coming from one who speaks from experience. Whatever folly—whatever madness you may be guilty of, be warned by me, and never marry!”