"It's all right," said Rensslaer consolingly, "only you said 'Yes' to the wrong man. Now, if you had waited a little longer—"
"A little longer! Hasn't this Horse Show been going on for a week, and has Chris Hannen had one thought, one word, when jumping was on, for me?"
"He was charming to you whenever I saw you," said Rensslaer. "You seemed completely happy together, and admirably well suited, as always."
"So we are—were, I mean," said Gay.
"And I think St. Swithin's, with congenial work among my horses, would have suited Mr. Hannen very well," said Rensslaer quietly. "No steeplechasing, of course—that was in the bond—but plenty of legitimate riding."
"I don't understand," faltered Gay, but all the same she was beginning to do so, to realise what her mad fit of temper had cost her.
"He couldn't help being interested in the jumping right through—he has never seen anything like it before—and he rides magnificently himself—I believe could have done anything the others did. Naturally he didn't want to miss a single point of horsemanship, or any foreign wrinkle—and can you blame him? He was watching others do what he knew he would never have the chance to do—what he longed intensely to do only he loved you more."
"More?" said Gay faintly, and into the young face that he had first seen so careless and happy, came a look of misery that pierced Rensslaer's tender heart.
"Yes. I offered him a thousand a year, and a house at Elsinore, on condition he gave up steeplechasing, and he came to me last night after the Show, and said he accepted my offer, and was coming this morning to tell you, and ask you to marry him. You had left, or I feel sure he would have asked you then."
"Oh, poor Chris!" breathed the girl, her arms falling to her sides, her grey eyes looking straight before her.