As they talked, old times came up, and they drew a little nearer, until at last a gentle spring of rose-colored interest began a feeble flow in Alexa's mind. When George took his leave, which he did soon, with the wisdom of one who feared to bore, she went with him to the court, where the gardener was holding his horse. Beside them stood Andrew, talking to the old man, and admiring the beautiful animal in his charge.
“The life of the Creator has run free through every channel up to this creature!” he was saying as they came near.
“What rot!” said George to himself, but to Alexa he said: “Here's my old friend, the farmer, I declare!” then to Andrew: “How do you do, Mr. Ingram?”
George never forgot a man's name, and went in consequence for a better fellow than he was. One may remember for reasons that have little to do with good-fellowship. He spoke as if they were old friends. “You seem to like the look of the beast!” he said: “you ought to know what's what in horses!”
“He is one of the finest horses I ever saw,” answered Andrew. “The man who owns him is fortunate.”
“He ought to be a good one!” said George. “I gave a hundred and fifty guineas for him yesterday.”
Andrew could not help vaguely reflecting what kind of money had bought him, if Sandy was right.
Alexa was pleased to see Andrew. He made her feel more comfortable. His presence seemed to protect her a little.
“May I ask you, Mr. Ingram,” she said, “to repeat what you were saying about the horse as we came up?”
“I was saying,” answered Andrew, “that, to any one who understands a horse it is clear that the power of God must have flowed unobstructed through many generations to fashion such a perfection.”