floor coils and uncoils itself more swiftly than any serpent, each horse moving at speed, each one obeying as implicitly as any creature of brass and iron moved by steam.  And then he talks of broadsword fights, in which the left hand, managing the horse, outdoes the cunning of the right, and of the great reviews, when, if ever, a monarch must feel his power as he sees his squadrons dash past him, saluting as one man, and reflects on the expenditure of mental and physical power represented in that one moment’s display.

“You can’t learn to do such things as these,” he says, “by mere rough riding.  Why, only the other day, when Queen Victoria went to Sandringham, the gentlemen of the Norfolk County hunt turned out to escort her carriage, all in pink, all wearing the green velvet caps of the hunt, all splendidly mounted and perfectly appointed.  They were a magnificent sight, and it was no wonder that Her Majesty looked at them with approval.

“In a dash across country they would probably have surpassed any other riders in the world, unless, perhaps, those of some other English country, but when Her Majesty and the Prince of Wales appeared at a front window, and the gentlemen rode past to salute them, what happened?  The first three or four ranks went on well enough, although Frenchmen, or Spaniards, or Germans would have done better, because they, had they chosen, would have saluted and then reined backward, but the Englishmen made a gallant show, and Her Majesty smiled.  Somebody raised a cheer, and the horses began to rear and perform movements not named in the school manuals.  The Queen laughed outright, and the gentlemen finished their pretty parade in some confusion.  Now a very little school training would have prevented that accident, and the huntsmen would have been as undisturbed as Queen Christina was that day when her horse began to plunge while in a procession, and she quickly brought him to his senses, and won the heart of every Spaniard who saw her by showing that ‘the Austrian’ could ride.  An English hunting-man’s seat is so good that he is often careless about fine details, but a trained horseman is careless about nothing, and a trained horsewoman is like unto him.”

And now the lights are out, and you and Theodore go away, and, walking home, lay plans for further work in the saddle, for he, too, has caught the riding-fever, and now you begin to think about class lessons.

VIII.

All in a wow.
Sothern.

And you really fancy, Esmeralda, that you are ready for class lessons?  You have been in the saddle only six times, remember.  But you have been assured, on the highest authority, that fifty lessons in class are worth a hundred private lessons?  And the same authority says that the class lessons should be preceded by at least twice as much private instruction as you have enjoyed; but, naturally, you suppress this unfavorable context.  You think that you cannot begin to subject yourself to military discipline so soon?