Other riders enter:  two or three men mounted on their own horses, beautiful creatures concerning whose value fabulous tales are told in the stable; the best rider of the school, very quietly and correctly dressed, and managing her horse so easily that the women in the gallery do not perceive that she is guiding him at all, although the real judges, old soldiers, a stray racing man or two, the other school pupils and the master—­regard her admiringly, and the grooms, as they bring in new horses, keep an eye on her and her movements, as they linger on their way back to the stable.

“Her horse is very good,” Theodore admits, “but I don’t think much of her.  Well, yes, she is pretty,” he admits, as she executes the Spanish trot for a few steps and then pats her horse’s shoulder; “it’s pretty, but anybody could do it on a trained horse, couldn’t they, sir?” he asks your master, who rides up, mounted on his own pet horse.

“Anybody who knew how.  The horse has been trained to answer certain orders, but the orders must be given.  An untrained horse would not understand the orders, no matter how good an animal he might be.  Antinous might not have been able to ride Bucephalus, and I don’t believe that Alexander could have coaxed Rosinante into a Spanish trot.  It isn’t enough to have a Corliss engine, or enough to have a good engineer:  you must have them both, and they must be acquainted with one another.  I don’t believe that horse would do that for you.”

“No, I don’t think he would,” Theodore says dryly, for he has been watching, and has reluctantly owned to himself that he does not see how the movement is effected.  Meantime, you, Esmeralda, have been arduously devoting yourself to maintaining a correct attitude, and are rewarded by hearing somebody in the gallery wonder whether you represent the kitchen poker or Bunker Hill Monument.

“Don’t mind,” your master says, encouragingly.  “It is better to be stiffly erect than to be crooked, and as for the person who spoke, she could not ride a Newfoundland dog,” and with that he touches his hat, and rides lightly across the ring to speak to a lady whose horse has, in the opinion of the gallery, been showing a very bad temper, although in reality every plunge and curvet has been made in answer to her wrist and to the tiny spur which his rider wears and uses when needed.  The lady nods in answer to something which the master says, the two draw near to the wall, side by side, the others fall in behind them, and the band begins a waltz, playing rather deliberately at first, but soon slightly accelerating the time.