He was leading the mare through a gate in a hedge, which opened into a field on the right.
"Whose field is it?" asked the face at the window.
"No doubt it belongs to someone who wouldn't wish to cause a horse needless suffering."
"But is it suffering? It seems to me to walk all right, and to be all right."
"Now it does--now! She's not one to make a fuss about a trifle. Besides, it may be spasmodic."
"What may be spasmodic?"
"I am not a veterinary surgeon, so I can hardly pose as an authority on the ailments of horses; I can only hope for the best." He was fastening a nosebag round the creature's neck. "I don't want her to eat a stranger's grass, however soft a heart he may have for a suffering beast. If that door's still bolted, would you mind unbolting it? I'm coming round to the back." When he did get round the door was open, and the girl was standing on the ledge, in her new attire. He exclaimed at sight of her: "Why, that frock might have been built for you; you look as if you had been melted into it."
Her pallor had gone; she was rosy red.
"It does fit rather well."
"And that hat's a stunner; no one who saw you last night would know you now. If you wouldn't mind coming down, I'll come up; I want to do a little changing."