"I don't see what there is to laugh at," says Miss Bolton, with some indignation. "'They laugh who win,' is an old proverb. But you didn't win; you weren't in it."
"I expect I never shall be," says Gower. "Yet lookers-on have their advantage ascribed to them by a pitiful Providence. They see most of the game."
"It is I who should laugh," says Tita, who has not been following him. "I won—we"—looking, with an honest desire to be just to all people, at Sir Maurice—"we won."
"No, no; leave it in the singular," says Maurice, making her a little gesture of self-depreciation.
"You seem very active," says Margaret kindly. "I watched you at golf yesterday. You liked it?"
"Yes; there is so little else to like," says Tita, looking at her, "except my horses and my dogs."
"A horse is the best companion of all," says Mr. Woodleigh, his eyes bent on her charming little face.
"I'm not sure, the dogs are so kind, so affectionate; they want one so," says Tita. "And yet a horse—oh, I do love my last mount—a brown mare! She's lying up now."
"You ride, then?" says Sir Maurice.
"Ride! you bet!" says Tita. She rolls over on the rug, and, resting on her elbows, looks up at him; Lady Rylton watching, shudders. "I've been in the saddle all my life. Just before I came here I had a real good run—my uncle's groom had one horse, I had the other; it was over the downs. I won."