"I never talk when I'm driving in a crowd," said "Miss Key-Stone."
Elsie was more than ever awed. There are people who are won by a cordial manner, and there are others who are won by a snub. Elsie belonged to the people who feel a person must be well worth knowing who does not particularly care to know them.
But there was nothing for it except to defer closer acquaintance with this haughty beauty whose whole attention was given to her horses, and Elsie fell back a little to ride beside Edith and Eleanor.
"Mightn't we keep on up-town, mother?" suggested Edith as they reached the gate of the park at One Hundred and Tenth Street, and the horses obediently slackened for a decision.
"I am in no hurry to get home. It isn't often we get such sleighing as this. Yes, I'd like to keep on. Suppose we drive up to Albany for supper!" cried Mrs. Charleford.
The party turned up Seventh Avenue, and drove faster up the wide street. There were still many sleighs jingling in both directions but they made better time here than they could in the park.
A piece of paper fluttered across the road in the wind. The Charleford horses saw it, but they justified Edith's commendation of them by ignoring it. Not so Trump. It is the exceptional horse who has not his own particular mental weakness, his own private and pet aversion at which he considers himself warranted in shying, and many horses change this aversion according to the mood, or the weather. Trump objected to paper flying about, though at times he walked decorously over paper, and shied at a stone. A good horse, he was a nervous one, and to nerves nothing is certain always to look normal. To-day the fluttering paper took on some shape of menace, and Trump shied, and bolted.
Elsie kept a firm seat. She was a good rider, self-confident, well taught. She was not frightened, and as she did not lose control no one interfered to stop Trump. Gretta touched the Charleford horses and they followed her, keeping up.
Suddenly Elsie threw up her hands, and Gretta instantly knew what had happened; her saddle was slipping and Elsie, riding in the side saddle, could not free her foot. Already she was sliding down the horse's side, and Trump was quivering with fright, but his speed slackened, mercifully, as he made ready to bolt.