“Nor anyone else. Don’t tease yourself to no purpose! You are really quite helpless in the matter, you know.”

She turned her head, gravely regarding him. “Don’t you feel some compunction, Sir Waldo?”

“None at all. I should feel much more than compunction if I did not do my utmost to prevent Lindeth’s falling a victim to as vain and heartless a minx as I have yet had the ill-fortune to encounter. Do I seem to you a villain? I promise you I am not!”

“No, no! But you do make her show her worst side!”

“True! Does it occur to you that if I employed such tactics against—oh, Miss Chartley—Miss Colebatch there—yourself—I should be taken completely at fault? You would none of you show a side you don’t possess. What’s more, ma’am, I don’t make the chit coquet with me, or boast of her looks and her conquests to impress me: I merely offer her the opportunity to do so—and much good that would do me if she had as much elegance of mind as of person! All I should win by casting out such lures to a girl of character would be a well-deserved set-down.”

She could not deny it, and rode on in silence. He saw that she was still looking rather troubled, and said: “Take comfort, you over-anxious creature! I may encourage her to betray her tantrums and her selfishness but I would no more create a situation to conjure up these faults than I would compromise her.” He laughed suddenly. “A work of supererogation! If she could fly into a passion merely because Julian expressed a mild desire to include Miss Chartley in this party we shan’t suffer from a want of such situations! Who knows! He may feel it incumbent upon him to pay a little attention to Miss Colebatch presently, in which case we shall find ourselves in the centre of a vortex!”

She was obliged to laugh, but she shuddered too, begging him not to raise such hideous spectres. “Though I’ve no real apprehension in this instance,” she added, “Miss Colebatch is the one girl with whom Tiffany has struck up a friendship.”

“Yes, I have observed that the redhead regards her with enormous admiration.”

“I shall take leave to tell you, Sir Waldo,” said Miss Trent severely, “that remark had better have been left unspoken!”

“It would have been, had I been talking to anyone but yourself.”

Fortunately, since she could not think what to say in reply to this, Courtenay came trotting back to them at that moment, to inform them of a slight change of plan. By skirting the cornfield that lay beyond the hedge to their right they could cut a corner, and so be the sooner out of the lane, and on to open ground, he said. The only thing was that there was no gate on the farther side: did Miss Trent feel she could jump the hedge?

“What, on that collection of bad points? Certainly not!” said Sir Waldo.

Courtenay grinned, but said: “I know, but there’s nothing to it, sir! He’ll brush through it easily enough—or she could pull him through it, if she chooses!”

“Oh, could she?” said Miss Trent, her eye kindling. “Well, she don’t choose! By all means let us escape as soon as we may from this stuffy lane!”

“I knew you were a right one!” said Courtenay. “There is a gate on this side, where the others are waiting, and I’ll have it open in a trice.”

He wheeled his hack, and trotted off again. Miss Trent turned her fulminating gaze upon the Nonesuch, but he disarmed her by throwing up his hand in the gesture of a fencer acknowledging a hit, saying hastily: “No, no, don’t snap my nose off! I cry craven!”

“So I should hope, sir!” she said, moving off in Courtenay’s wake. She said over her shoulder, sudden mischief in her face: “I wish that handsome thoroughbred of yours may not make you look no-how by refusing!”

An answering gleam shone in his eyes. “You mean you wish he may! But I’m on my guard, and shall wait for you to show me the way!”

The hedge proved, however, to be much as Courtenay had described it, presenting no particular difficulty to even the sorriest steed, but Tiffany, who was leading the procession round the side of the field, approached it at a slapping pace, and soared over it with inches to spare. Miss Colebatch exclaimed: “Oh, one would think that lovely mare had wings! I wish I could ride like that!”

“I’m glad you don’t ride like that!” said Courtenay, “Wings! She’s more like to end with a broken leg!” He reined his horse aside, saying politely to Sir Waldo: “Will you go, sir?”

“Yes, if you wish—but rather more tamely! Your cousin is an intrepid horsewoman, and might become an accomplished one, but you should teach her not to ride at a hedge as if she had a stretch of water to clear. She’ll take a rattling fall one of these days.”

“Lord, sir, I’ve told her over and over again to ride fast at water, and slow at timber, but she never pays the least heed to what anyone says! She’s a show-off—though I’ll say this for her!!—she don’t care a rush for a tumble!”

“And rides with a light hand,” said Julian, with a challenging look at Sir Waldo.

“Yes, and such a picture as she presents!” said Miss Colebatch.

Miss Trent, following Sir Waldo over the hedge, observed, as she reined in beside him, that that at least was true. He shrugged, but did not reply. The rest of the party joined them; and as they were now upon uncultivated ground they rode on in a body for some way, and the opportunity for private conversation was lost.

It was when they had covered perhaps half the distance to Knaresborough that Miss Trent, herself uncomfortably hot, noticed that Miss Colebatch, who had started out in tearing spirits, had become unusually silent. Watching her, she saw her sag in the saddle, and then jerk herself upright again; and she edged her horse alongside her, saying quietly: “Are you feeling quite the thing, Miss Colebatch?”

A rather piteous glance was cast at her, but Elizabeth, trying to smile, replied: “Oh yes! That is, I—I have the headache a little, but pray don’t regard it! I shall be better directly, and I would not for the world—It is just the excessive heat!”

Miss Trent now perceived that under the sun’s scorch she was looking very sickly. She said: “No wonder! I find it insufferably hot myself, and shall be thankful to call a halt to this expedition.”

“Oh, no, no!” gasped Elizabeth imploringly. “Don’t say anything—pray!”Her chest heaved suddenly, and her mouth went awry. “Oh, Miss Trent, I d-do feel so s-sick!” she disclosed, tears starting to her eyes.

Miss Trent leaned forward to catch her slack bridle, bringing both their horses to a halt. She had not come unprepared for such an emergency, and, thrusting a hand into her pocket, produced a bottle of smelling-salts. By this time the rest of the party had seen that something was wrong, and had gathered round them. Miss Trent, dropped her own bridle, supported Elizabeth’s wilting frame with one arm while she held the vinaigrette under her nose with her other hand. She said: “Miss Colebatch is overcome by the heat. Lift her down, Mr Underhill!”

He dismounted quickly, very much concerned, and, with a little assistance from Lindeth, soon had poor Elizabeth out of the saddle. Miss Trent was already on the ground, and after directing them to lay their burden on the turf desired them to retire to a distance.

Elizabeth was not sick, but she retched distressingly for some minutes, and felt so faint and dizzy that she was presently glad to obey Miss Trent’s command to lie still, and to keep her eyes shut. Ancilla remained beside her, shielding her as much as possible from the sun, and fanning her with her own hat. The gentlemen, meanwhile, conferred apart, while Tiffany stood watching her friend, and enquiring from time to time if Ancilla thought she would soon be better.

After a few moments the Nonesuch detached himself from the male group, and came towards Ancilla. He made a sign to her that he wished to speak to her; she nodded, and, leaving Tiffany to take her place, got up, and went to him.

“Just as you foretold, eh?” he said. “How is she?”

“Better, but in no cause to go on, poor girl! I have been racking my brains to think what were best to do, and can hit upon nothing. I think, if she could but get out of the sun she would revive, but there are no trees, and not even a bush to afford her some shade!”

“Do you think, if her horse were led, she could go on for half a mile? Underhill tells us that there’s a village, and an inn: no more than a small alehouse, I collect, but he says the woman who keeps it is respectable, and the immediate need, as you say, is to bring Miss Colebatch out of the sun. What do you think?”

“An excellent suggestion!” she replied decidedly. “We must at all events make the attempt to get her there, for she can’t remain here, on the open moor. I believe that if she could rest in the cool, and we could get some water for her, she will soon recover—but she must not go any farther, Sir Waldo!”

“Oh, no! There can be no question of that,” he agreed. “We’ll take her to the inn, and decide then how best to convey her home.”

She nodded, and went back to the sufferer, who had revived sufficiently to think herself well enough to resume the journey. She was encouraged by Tiffany, who greeted Miss Trent with the news that Lizzie was much better, and needed only a rest to make her perfectly ready to ride on. When she learned that they were to go to Courtenay’s inn she said enthusiastically that it was the very thing. “We may all of us refresh there, and get cool!” she said. “You will like that, won’t you, Lizzie?”

Miss Colebatch agreed to it, saying valiantly that she knew she would soon feel as well as any of them; but when she was helped to her feet her head swam so sickeningly that she reeled, and would have fallen but for the support of Miss Trent’s arm around her. She was lifted on to her saddle, and was told by Courtenay, in a heartening voice, that she had nothing to do but hold on to the pommel, and sniff the vinaigrette if she felt faint. “No, you don’t want the bridle: I’m going to lead White Star,” he said. “And no need to be afraid of falling off, because I shan’t let you!”