“Then you knew?” wondered Holly.
“Knew something was up, that’s all. I suppose he flicked the mare with the whip; I dare say he only wanted to start her for me.”
Holly shook her head.
“No, it wasn’t that. He—he cut her with the whip as hard as he could.” Winthrop smiled at her tragic face and voice.
“Well, as it happens there was little harm done. I dare say he’s quite as regretful about it now as you like. What I want to know is what happened afterwards, after I—dismounted.”
“Oh,” said Holly. Her eyes wandered from Winthrop’s and the color crept slowly into her face.
“Well,” he prompted, presently. “You are not a very good chronicler, Miss Holly.”
“Why, afterwards——oh, Julian examined you and found that you weren’t killed——”
“There was doubt about that, then?”