“Now sir, I shall ride you home,” she said, rubbing her pet’s nose, “and Mr. Burton will lead you. This is Mr. Burton, Frisky.”
“But you have no saddle,” said Burton.
“Surely I am westernised enough to ride without a saddle by this time,” said the young woman, “especially as the gait is not to exceed a walk. But I am afraid I shall have to have some assistance before we can start.”
She stood with her right arm over the pony’s back. In the darkness he seemed unusually tall.
For a lady in an ordinary habit to mount a horse, especially without the assistance of a saddle, is a feat of some difficulty, as Burton discovered before it was accomplished. As they journeyed slowly back to the farmhouse the young man inquired if Miss Vane had ever been to Crotton’s Crossing.
“No, indeed, and they say it is one of the most delightful drives. I have been at Harry a dozen times to take me, but he always has some excuse, and George—well, I must admit that George seems to be more interested in our friend Miss Green than in his little orphan cousin.”
“I was wondering,” said Burton, mustering all his resolution for the task, “if you would accept an invitation to drive there with me next Sunday?”
“One can never tell,” said the young woman demurely.
“Tell what?” asked Burton, a little piqued at the irrelevance of the remark.
“What one will do under certain circumstances, until the circumstances occur.”