“Yes; I don’t disown it.  I sent a coloured sketch of what I wanted to Gaines, and he found fur and everything.  ‘Wings’ was bought in an auction last month.  He went cheap, because they never could teach him the correct ‘racking’ action.  Papa advised me to have him, as he thought he would carry me in the summer, and I have no other horse.”

“I’ll tell you what, Cecil; we must extend our wings if we are to be in time.  Canter him across the common, there’s a capital track.”

“Can’t he go!” said she, exultingly, as on a hard, frozen surface they sped along.  “We rush through the air so silently that if it were not for the bells one might fancy oneself flying.”

“Yes,” said Bertie; “I have known more unpleasant sensations than being driven ten miles an hour by a fair lady—­a dark one, I should say.”

“Given the lady.  I don’t think you much care whom it may chance to be, Bertie.”

  “If a woman is pretty, to me it’s no matter
   Be she blonde or brunette, so she let me look at her.”

“Were you thinking of those lines in ’Lucille’?”

“Them’s your sentiments to a T, I should say.”

“And you ought to have lived in the days when the knight had ‘Une seule’ embroidered on his banner.  I’ll never believe that his loves were so limited; doubtless each appropriated the invidious distinction to herself.”

“I know one knight,” said Cecil, “who would give them plenty of reason to do so.”

“Fancy,” continued Bertie “riding in full armour to a crossroad, and challenging every one to single combat who declined to acknowledge his particular fair to be queen of love and beauty, and that no one else should hold a candle to her!  Now we should think it great impertinence in a fellow to offer his opinion about her at all.”

“No,” laughed Cecil, “such public proclamation would never suit these inconsistent days.”

“Can you not believe yourself ‘Une seule,’ Cecil, even in these days?” returned he, meaningly and tenderly.

“That would depend on my knight,” said she, blushing, and uncertain how to take it.  “I should not care to live in a Fool’s Paradise.”

“If it were Paradise, why analyze the wisdom of it?” said Bertie, gazing with surprised admiration at her radiant face, that kindled as with some hidden fire.

“I could do without him,” answered she, “but if he were worth caring for I wouldn’t share him with any one.”

“I hope Fane isn’t ‘Un seul,’ Cecil.  For a young lady with such severe ideas of constancy, you were pretty thick at the sleighing-party.”

There was something in this speech that annoyed Cecil, who turned it off with a short answer.  It might have been that she did not like him so composedly contemplating such a possibility.

Du Meresq said no more, perhaps because they were approaching the toboggin hill, or perhaps, like Dr. Johnson, he had nothing ready.