"Well, as you seem fond of galloping," said Flurry sardonically, "this one might suit you."
"You don't mean the Moonlighter?" said Miss Knox, looking fixedly at him.
"Supposing I did, have you anything to say against him?" replied Flurry.
Decidedly he was in a very bad temper. Miss Sally shrugged her shoulders, and gave a little shred of a laugh, but said no more.
In a comparatively secluded corner of the field we came upon Moonlighter, sidling and fussing, with flickering ears, his tail tightly tucked in and his strong back humped in a manner that boded little good. Even to my untutored eye, he appeared to be an uncommonly good-looking animal, a well-bred grey, with shoulders that raked back as far as the eye could wish, the true Irish jumping hindquarters, and a showy head and neck; it was obvious that nothing except Michael Hallahane's adroit chucks at his bridle kept him from displaying his jumping powers free of charge. Bernard stared at him in silence; not the pregnant and intimidating silence of the connoisseur, but the tongue-tied muteness of helpless ignorance. His eye for horses had most probably been formed on circus posters, and the advertisements of a well-known embrocation, and Moonlighter approximated in colour and conduct to these models.
"I can see he's a ripping fine horse," he said at length; "I think I should like to try him."
Miss Knox changed countenance perceptibly, and gave a perturbed glance at Flurry. Flurry remained impenetrably unamiable.
"I don't pretend to be a judge of horses," went on Mr. Shute. "I dare say I needn't tell you that!" with a very engaging smile at Miss Sally; "but I like this one awfully."
As even Philippa said afterwards, she would not have given herself away like that over buying a reel of cotton.
"Are you quite sure that he's really the sort of horse you want?" said Miss Knox, with rather more colour in her face than usual; "he's only four years old, and he's hardly a finished hunter."