As we danced, he paused several times to rest and to take breath, and as we stood against the wall on one occasion, I found that my neighbor was Miss Chalgrove.
“Ah, so here you are!” she exclaimed gaily. “We ought to know one another, don’t you think so—and without any formal introduction? Are you staying in Stonebrook?”
“Yes, for the present.”
“You hunt, of course?” gazing at me eagerly.
“Not I. I have never even been on a horse’s back.”
“What!” she ejaculated, as if such an idea was too difficult to grasp.
“Then we are not alike in everything. Why, I”—touching herself with her fan—“live in the saddle—spend my days there, and would sleep there if it were possible.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve heard you are a splendid horse-woman.”
“I’m going to have such a day to-morrow! I’ve brought over a new hunter, a French steeplechaser, and mean to cut them all down—men and women. Look out, and you’ll see an account in the Field.”