"In two words, Mr. Walters, you're ruined!" She spoke almost angrily in her effort at self-control.
"That's the way to say it!" was his careless reply. "General break up—horse, foot, and dragoons. No reason, though, you should call me Mr. Walters."
"Well, Daisy, then," she murmured, with a loving, lingering tenderness on those syllables she was resolved never to utter above her breath again. "You know how I hoped you'd win. You know how vexed I am. You know—or rather you don't, and never shall know—that it's worse for me than for you!"
The last sentence she spoke so low he did not catch its purport, but thinking she regretted the loss of her own wagers, he began to express sorrow for having advised her so badly.
She stopped him angrily. "I would have backed her for thousands," she exclaimed. "I would have laid my life on her. I believe I have!"
"Then you don't owe the mare a grudge!" he answered cheerily. "I thought you wouldn't. She's not a pin the worse for training. You'll take her back, won't you?—and—and—you'll be kind to her for her own sake?"
She seemed to waver a moment, as if she weighed some doubtful matter in her mind. Presently with cleared brow, and frank, open looks, she caught his hand.
"And for yours!" said she. "I'll never part with her. So long as we three are above ground, Satanella—my namesake—will be a—a—remembrance between you and me!"
Then she beckoned the General, who was talking to some ladies behind her, and asked for information about the next race, with a kindness of tone and manner that elevated the old soldier to the seventh heaven.