Unseen, uncouth John Thorne, furious at the scant courtesy shown to the lady of his dreams, had brought his whip down heftily, just above the mangy tail of the colonel mem’s pony.

“I think I’ll ride alone, if you don’t mind,” said Leonie with a ripple of suppressed laughter in her voice.

“All the way to Alipore?”

“Oh! it’s not far, and I daren’t trust the syce, the Devil would simply eat him.”

The boy sidled in between her and Thorne, to the latter’s infinite annoyance.

“Are you still keen on the shikar stunt, Lady Hickle?”

He gazed at her adoringly, and she smiled back into the honest, merry eyes.

“Shikar stunt?”

“Yes! you remember—­Sunderbunds—­dak bungalows—­shikari—­wild animals in bunches—­discomfort and all the rest.  Say yes!  Oh! do!” as Leonie slowly shook her head, “It’ll be such a rag!  Major and Mrs. Talbot—­she’s a fine shot—­you and me, and we’ve got to get another fe—­woman ’cos a simply top-hole fellow walked into the club last night, who’s wonderfully keen on it; we’re kind of related, his father was my mother’s second cousin.”

“And the higher the fewer,” interposed Thorne, as Leonie laughed.  “And what’s the top-hole fellow’s name?”

The youngster eyed the elder man with disapproval.

“Name—­coming brain specialist—­setting the old fossils in Harley Street by the ears—­forgotten more than they’ve ever learned—­name—­why, Jan Cuxson.  Won’t you come, Lady Hickle?”

Leonie had suddenly bent to adjust her stirrup leather.

Her face was dead white, her eyes like stars, her mouth like a gate to heaven.

Almost a year and not a word, not a sign!

Tortured by doubt, racked with love, she had gone her way silently; blaming herself one moment for the ease with which she had shown her love; staking her all the next on the honesty of the man who had kissed her hand in forgiveness in the old Devon church.

Making excuses, heaping the blame upon herself, wearying, wondering—­and now!

She lifted her face, which shone like the Taj at noon, and the worshipful company of men looked at her, almost stunned by its incomprehensible radiance.

“Yes,” she said softly, without thought of the Devil’s nerve-storm.  “Yes, I will surely come!”

As she spoke there was a terrific report as the hind tyre of a passing car burst with due violence, a sudden convulsive bound as the Devil leapt with all four feet off the ground, and a thunder of hoofs as, with the bit between his teeth, he cleared for the open just as a man on a sixteen-hand bay turned in at the race-stand opening.

CHAPTER XXVIII

  “To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus
  And witch the world with noble horsemanship!”—­Shakespeare.

The onlookers behaved in the orthodox runaway-horse manner.