‘Well, perhaps it’s better to begin by following your bent. You may find the road take a turn, though.’
‘Perhaps. I will go on till it does, though.’
While we talked, Clara had followed her father, and was now patting my mare’s neck with a nice, plump, fair-fingered hand. The creature stood with her arched neck and small head turned lovingly towards her.
‘What a nice white thing you have got to ride!’ she said. ‘I hope it is your own.’
‘Why do you hope that?’ I asked.
‘Because it’s best to ride your own horse, isn’t it?’ she answered, looking up naïvely.
‘Would you like to ride her? I believe she has carried a lady, though not since she came into my possession.’
Instead of answering me, she looked round at her father, who stood by smiling benignantly. Her look said—
‘If papa would let me.’
He did not reply, but seemed waiting. I resumed.