Ignoring her entreaties, Le Breton came closer, all the time talking to the horse gently in a strange language.
The animal seemed to recognize a friend. It quietened down suddenly, and stretched a long neck in his direction. Still talking, he patted and stroked it. The horse submitted to his attentions, and before many moments had passed was rubbing its nose against him.
All interest, Pansy watched the two make friends.
"What are you saying to him?" she asked. "Usually he won't let a stranger near him."
"I was talking to him in the language all race-horses understand—Arabic," he replied. "But how did you come by such a brute?"
The animal was of the type only the most hardened of stable-men could handle; the very last horse for a girl to ride.
"I dropped across him quite by accident."
Le Breton thought of the scars he had seen on the girl's arm, and he had heard there were others and worse beyond his view.
"I should say it was 'by accident,'" he remarked drily. "I'd like to hear the story."
Pansy patted the big horse fondly.