'I never engage in these sports that way now.'
'Why?'
'Because I am getting too old,' she replied, with a pretty demure expression.
'Old—is this a joke!'
'Besides, I must be careful of myself for little Nettie's sake. If aught happened to me——'
'You are an expert whip—here is a low hedge, and I shall be charmed to give you a lead.'
'Thanks—no; I would rather not.'
How soldierly Tony Dalton looked, she was thinking, with his bronzed complexion, thoughtful, dark eyes, his dark shorn hair, and long moustache a shade darker, his erect and well-knit figure sitting well down in his saddle, his hunting-coat soiled and stained by service and exposure to the weather.
'Then you have seen enough of the sport?' said he.
'Quite, and am now taking the road homeward.'