"Now you shall see what 'The Sultan' can do," she went on. "I'll race you to the farm over there, where breakfast is waiting," she finished, pointing to a green patch away in the distance.
A touch of her spurless heel sent the gaunt beast flying along the dusty, deserted road, in a long, loping gallop that grew more and more rapid, egged on by the sound of another horse persistently at his heels.
Pansy had not expected that her escort would be able to keep up with her. No horse she had met could keep pace with her protégé. At the end of half a mile she had been prepared to rein up and wait for Le Breton.
But at the end of a mile he was a length behind her. And at the end of two he was there just the same.
Pansy tired before either the man or the horses.
"Oh!" she panted, as Le Breton drew up beside her. "I wasn't trained as a jockey."
"You didn't get away from me quite so easily as you expected," he remarked with curious emphasis.
"I didn't know there was a horse in the Islands to touch 'The Sultan,' in spite of his years."
"This horse I'm on has won several races in Paris. And you challenged me, Pansy, without pausing to consider what you might be let in for," he said, watching her in a fierce, fond manner.
"I always leap before I look. It's my besetting sin," she replied.