The hurt of helplessness came back to Darby; he should have been helping Gheena out. It reminded him of what he was to see her spring to the pony's head and stop the little beast going on.
"You take care of the poor cripple, Gheena," he said gently.
Gheena's eyes filled with tears as she muttered denial. Darby swung up the shallow steps, his leg was undoubtedly growing stronger.
Later on he told Gheena all about the dispute over the race.
At the next meet, two days afterwards, Rourke rode up on the little dun.
"They have me shamed, Mr. Darby," he said, "with 'Afraid ye are,' and 'How many mile would ye be left behind in two?'"
Darby wondered.
"An' 'If ye're horse is good, pull him out.' So the match it will have to be—or Juliana Carty above at the farm, an' I have no great wish for her for a wife."
Janey rode up at the moment, her cheeks polished with soap, her tie well ironed, and her pretty face looking out under a fringe of brown hair, and James sighed.
"I have a wish for Janey," he said shyly. "An' so will ye settle all for the match, sir, I'll risk it."