“Wait till tomorrow. In the meantime I warn you that you’re almost certain to be disgraced in the sight of the town.”
“Let’s risk it anyway,” said the young man delightedly.
In a very few minutes, however, Mary seriously regretted a rash promise. They had only gone a few yards farther, Jack still inclined to exult at the pact into which he had lured her, when both were brought up short by a sudden clear “Hello!” from the other side of the rails.
Jack had been hailed by a couple of long, lean young women with mouse-colored hair, on a couple of long, lean mouse-colored horses. They were followed at a respectful distance by a very smart groom on a good-looking chestnut. The set of the close-fitting black habits and the absolute ease of the wearers denoted the expert horse-woman.
“Hello, Madge—hello, Blanche!” The casual greeting was punctuated by a wave, equally casual, of the young man’s hand.
As the two riders went slowly by they let their eyes rest upon Mary. The look she received did not amount to a stare, but it had a cool impertinence which somehow roused her fighting instinct. Unconsciously she gave it back. On both sides was a frank curiosity discreetly veiled, but the honors, if honors there were in the matter, were with the occupants of the saddle. Somehow that seemed so clearly to have been the place for generations of these lean young women with their rigidity of line, their large noses, their cool appraising air of which they were wholly unconscious.
Who are they? was their reaction upon Mary Lawrence.
Who is she? was her reaction upon these horsewomen.
“A couple of my cousins.” The young man carelessly answered a question that Mary was too proud to ask.
IV