"Yes—yes; she is very charming," says Lady Rylton, as she hurries
Lady Eshurst down the steps that lead to the path below.
Good heavens! If she should hear some of Uncle Joe's funny stories!
She takes Lady Eshurst visibly in tow, and walks her out of hearing.
"What a good seat you must have!" says Mr. Woodleigh presently, who has been dwelling on what Tita has said about her riding.
"Oh, pretty well! Everyone should ride," says Tita indifferently. "I despise a man who can't conquer a horse. I," laughing, "never saw the horse that I couldn't conquer."
"You? Look at your hands!" says Gower, laughing.
"Well, what's the matter with them?" says she. "My cousin, when he was riding, used to say they were made of iron."
"Of velvet, rather."
"No. He said my heart was made of that." She laughs gaily, and suddenly looking up at Rylton, who is looking down at her, she fixes her eyes on his. She spreads her little hands abroad, brown as berries though they are with exposure to all sorts of weather. They are small brown hands, and very delicately shaped. "They are not so bad after all, are they?" says she.
"They are very pretty," smiles Rylton, returning her gaze.
Suddenly for the first time it occurs to him that she has a beauty that is all her own.