“I know it,” said Gerald.  “I did all I could; I killed him.  But you’ll have to excuse me, Mr. De Forest, I can’t ride.”

De Forest caught her by the arm impatiently, as she turned from him.  “What nonsense, Miss Vernor!  What is the good of playing tragedy queen over a dead dog?  I’ll have him buried in a silver coffin if you like and raise a memorial to his inestimable virtues, but in the name of all that is sensible, do get on the horse again and let us have our ride.”

“Not to-day,” replied Gerald.  “I could not.  It is impossible.”  She looked up at him, holding the little victim pressed close in her arms, utterly regardless of its rough and grimy coat.  Her eyes were swimming with tears.

“As you decide, of course,” said De Forest, sulkily, releasing her, and tossing his bridle to the boy.  “Here you, Sim, or Tim, or Jim, or whatever you are, take away the horses, and as you value your tip, mind you don’t have any more dogs around the next time I want you.”

Gerald turned away without another word, gathering up her dress as she best could, and went into the house.  Olly, who had witnessed the whole proceeding enchantedly from the window, ran to meet her.  “I say, let’s see him.  My, ain’t he dirty!  Is he dead? just as dead as he can be?”

“Yes,” answered his sister, very gently; “the poor thing is quite dead.  Come and help me bury him decently somewhere.  No, Phebe, stay there.  I wish it.  Don’t let us have any more fuss about it, please.”

De Forest lifted his hat and turned to leave as Gerald disappeared.  “Pray don’t let me detain you from the interesting ceremony, Miss Lane,” he said, with his most cynical and mocking voice; “Miss Vernor as high-priestess will be worth a full audience.  Good-morning.”

“Gerald wouldn’t like it if I went to her when she said not; I must stay here,” said Phebe turning her distressed face to Halloway, who had stood a silent spectator of it all.  “Oh, I’m so sorry it happened!  Isn’t it too bad?”

“It certainly is,—­for the dog.”

“She won’t get over it for ever so long, and it wasn’t really her fault.  She was only in fun when she turned her horse that way.  Gerald is very tender-hearted.”

“I see she is,—­toward dogs.”

“Mr. Halloway, you don’t like her!”

“Miss Phebe, I am madly in love with her.”

“Don’t laugh at me, please.  Isn’t she handsome?”

“Well, I couldn’t judge of the length of her hair.”

“Nonsense, tell me what you really think of her.”

Denham pondered a moment.  “I think all sorts of things,” he answered presently, with an amused laugh.  “She is so contradictory she’ll fit almost any opinion, and the worst I can say of her is that she’ll never concern herself in the least to find out what my opinion may be.”

“Ah,” said Phebe, softly, “just wait.  You don’t either of you know each other yet!”