At last they all mounted the grassy bank, to the picnic. Hermione poured out tea. She ignored now Ursula’s presence. And Ursula, recovering from her ill-humour, turned to Gerald saying:
“Oh, I hated you so much the other day, Mr Crich,”
“What for?” said Gerald, wincing slightly away.
“For treating your horse so badly. Oh, I hated you so much!”
“What did he do?” sang Hermione.
“He made his lovely sensitive Arab horse stand with him at the railway-crossing whilst a horrible lot of trucks went by; and the poor thing, she was in a perfect frenzy, a perfect agony. It was the most horrible sight you can imagine.”
“Why did you do it, Gerald?” asked Hermione, calm and interrogative.
“She must learn to stand—what use is she to me in this country, if she shies and goes off every time an engine whistles.”
“But why inflict unnecessary torture?” said Ursula. “Why make her stand all that time at the crossing? You might just as well have ridden back up the road, and saved all that horror. Her sides were bleeding where you had spurred her. It was too horrible—!”
Gerald stiffened.