"Over here in the country about ten miles," Chiltern was saying. "I heard of him, but I didn't expect anything until I went to look at him last week."
"What do you call him?" asked Mrs. Rindge.
"I haven't named him."
"I'll give you a name."
Chiltern looked at her. "What is it?" he said.
"Oblivion," she replied:
"By George, Adele," he exclaimed, "you have a way of hitting it off!"
"Will you let me ride him this afternoon?" she asked.
"I'm a—a candidate for oblivion." She laughed a little and her eyes shone feverishly.
"No you don't," he said. "I'm giving you the grey. He's got enough in him for any woman—even for you: And besides, I don't think the black ever felt a side saddle, or any other kind, until last week."