The girl kept her eyes lowered, while she said firmly, though with traces of breathlessness and tremulo in her voice, “Please help me down.”

Peter was out of his saddle in a moment, and lifted the girl down.  She staggered slightly on reaching the ground, so that Peter said:  “You had better lean on me.”

“No,” said the girl, still looking down, “I will lean against the horse.”  She rested against Mutineer, who looked around to see who was taking this insulting liberty with a Kentucky gentleman.  Having looked at her he said:  “You’re quite welcome, you pretty dear!” Peter thought he would like to be a horse, but then it occurred to him that equines could not have had what he had just had, so he became reconciled to his lot.

The girl went on flushing, even after she was safely leaning against Mutineer.  There was another ten seconds’ pause, and then she said, still with downcast eyes, “I was so frightened, that I did not know what I was doing.”

“You behaved very well,” said Peter, in the most comforting voice he could command.  “You held your horse splendidly.”

“I wasn’t a bit frightened, till the saddle began to turn.”  The girl still kept her eyes on the ground, and still blushed.  She was undergoing almost the keenest mortification possible for a woman.  She had for a moment been horrified by the thought that she had behaved in this way to a groom.  But a stranger—­a gentleman—­was worse!  She had not looked at Peter’s face, but his irreproachable riding-rig had been noticed.  “If it had only been a policeman,” she thought.  “What can I say to him?”

Peter saw the mortification without quite understanding it.  He knew, however, it was his duty to ease it, and took the best way by giving her something else to think about.

“As soon as you feel able to walk, you had better take my arm.  We can get a cab at the 72d Street entrance, probably.  If you don’t feel able to walk, sit down on that stone, and I’ll bring a cab.  It oughtn’t to take me ten minutes.”

“You are very good,” said the girl, raising her eyes, and taking a look at Peter’s face for the first time.

A thrill went through Peter.

The girl had slate-colored eyes!!

CHAPTER XXXVI.

A DREAM.

Something in Peter’s face seemed to reassure the girl, for though she looked down after the glance, she ceased leaning against the horse, and said, “I behaved very foolishly, of course.  Now I will do whatever you think best.”

Before Peter had recovered enough from his thrill to put what he thought into speech, a policeman came riding towards them, leading the roan mare.  “Any harm done?” he called.

“None, fortunately.  Where can we get a cab?  Or can you bring one here?”

“I’m afraid there’ll be none nearer than Fifty-ninth Street.  They leave the other entrances before it’s as dark as this.”