"I suppose I am," said the Major sullenly; but he held the stirrup for the other to mount.
Jim Douglas gathered the reins in his hand and paused.
"You had better walk her back. Keep more to the left; it's easier."
"Oh! I'll do," came the sullen voice. "Stop a bit, the curb's too tight."
"Take it off, will you? he knows me."
Major Erlton gave an odd, quick, bitter laugh. "I suppose he does. Right you are."
He stood, putting the curb chain into his pocket, mechanically, but Jim Douglas paused again.
"Good-by! Shake hands on it, Erlton."
The Major looked at him resentfully, the big, coarse hand came reluctantly; but the touch of that other like iron in its grip, its determination, seemed to rouse something deeper than anger.
"The odds are on you," he said, with a quiver in his voice. "You'll look after her--not my wife, she's in cantonments--but in the city, you know."