She nodded, and away we went. I had never been so proud of my mare. She showed to much advantage, with the graceful figure on her back, which she carried like a feather.
‘Now there’s a little fence,’ she said, pointing where a rail or two protected a clump of plantation. ‘You must mind the young wood though, or we shall get into trouble. Mind you throw yourself back a little—as you see me do.’
I watched her, and following her directions, did better this time, for I got over somehow and recovered my seat.
‘There! You improve,’ said Clara. ‘Now we’re pounded, unless you can jump again, and it is not quite so easy from this side.’
When we alighted, I found my saddle in the proper place.
‘Bravo!’ she cried. ‘I entirely forgive your first misadventure. You do splendidly.’
‘I would rather you forgot it, Clara,’ I cried, ungallantly.
‘Well, I will be generous,’ she returned. ‘Besides, I owe you something for such a charming ride. I will forget it.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, and drawing closer would have laid my left hand on her right.
Whether she foresaw my intention, I do not know; but in a moment she was yards away, scampering over the grass. My horse could never have overtaken hers.