“Nearer forty, I’d wager.”
“You needn’t tell me she can ride.”
“She can mount,” Sên insisted.
“Didn’t she crack your hand in two?”
“Went up like down.”
“Did she ride to hounds?”
“She rode towards them,” Sên stated guardedly.
Ivy chuckled. And Sên King-lo swung up into his saddle.
It was a better beginning than Miss Gilbert realized. Make a Chinese laugh, or help him to laugh, and his world is yours—at least for the moment.
They eyed each other’s horsemanship guilefully. There was nothing for either to cavil at yet. The girl’s seat was perfect. Sên’s was no less.