"How far is it?" I enquired, for I was already aware that it had been several months since I had ridden a horse.
"Not over fifteen miles," she replied, quite unconscious of the shock her words were to me. A thirty-mile ride the first day! "We'll have a late supper at my house when we get back," she continued. "There's a lovely ravine north from the inn; we can ride up there to a little fairy waterfall. It's only two or three miles out of our way."
"It sounds delightful," I stated quite truthfully. "Satan," I whispered, "you poor old beast, if you are game, I am. It may kill us both, but we'll see it through." Satan shook his head, insulted at the liberty I took of addressing him confidentially.
We were now in the open country, which fairly sparkled in the clear October air. The vineyards on either side of the road were hung with purple clusters, the maples were giving the first hints of their autumn colouring; the sumach was already flaming. Beyond, the lake lay, a colder blue than I had seen it; one felt like shouting with the very joy of living. All this, by some strange twist, reminded me of Mrs. Claybourne's hostility to me. I questioned Helen about it.
"Oh, mother made an awful fuss when she heard I'd asked you to come. Dad spoke up for you; at least, he told mother I was old enough to take care of myself. The trouble was that Ludwig had asked me to go with him—"
"That German?" I interrupted savagely.
"Hush, Ted. Remember your manners. I refused his invitation to ask you. Now are you satisfied?" Giving her horse a touch with her riding crop, she cantered off down the road ahead of me.
"Come Satan," I spoke to my animal, "shades of cattle round-ups and the Wyoming Trail—show what you are good for," and we set off madly in pursuit. It was her pleasure to let us catch her, for Satan, willing enough, was beyond the time of life when he could overhaul a thoroughbred. He was breathing hard, but with dignity, when I pulled upon his iron mouth as we came abreast. I found Helen laughing until tears were in her eyes.
"What now, little woman?" I asked with the anxiety a man has when a woman laughs by herself.
"I was thinking that if Satan were half a hand taller he would exactly match Mr. Winkle's horse. You looked too funny lumbering down the hill after us."