Angelica forgot the crowd. “I don’t care,” she said. “If Aunt Henrietta had ever owned Lady Washington she’d have done the same thing. And if you tell her I’ll pay you back. She’ll know that you let me leave my seat, and she told you not to.” This silenced Caroline.
“There! He’s fussed her mouth again,” she went on. The black mare had refused, and was rearing at the jump next the last. The girl stood on tiptoe and watched impatiently for a moment.
“There she goes,” she murmured, with a sigh. The judges had ordered the horse out.
Angelica tagged along disconsolately through the crowd till a conversation between two men who were leaning against the rail caught her ear.
“I wonder who that little girl was,” said one. “The mare seemed to know her voice, but Reggie doesn’t call her Lady Washington.”
“No—Hermione,” said the other. “He may have changed it, though,” he added. “He gives them all names beginning with H.”
“You’ll have an easy time beating him in the five-foot-six jumps,” said the first man. “It’s a good mare, but he can’t ride her.”
Angelica wondered who they were, but they turned around just then, and she dropped her eyes and hurried after Caroline.
As they made their way through the crowd, a nudge from the maid took her thoughts from Lady Washington. She had been wondering how she would find the young man who had ridden her. She looked up and saw that a man was bowing to her. It was Mr. “Billy” Livingstone. Mr. Livingstone was nearly sixty, but he had certain qualities of permanent youth which made him “Billy” to three generations.
“Hello, Angelica!” he exclaimed. “When did you turn up? How you’ve grown!”