’I hate bonds, Dr. Maryland!—­from the very bottom of my heart.’

‘You have never worn the sort I spoke of, my dear,’ he said, smiling.  ‘I never heard anybody complain of them.’

‘What sort?’ said Hazel.  ‘Bonds are bonds.’

‘But love likes her bonds,’ said the doctor.

The girl shook her head.  ’She likes her way, sir! in my case.  When Mr. Falkirk forbids me to—­well, no matter what,—­to do something,’ she said, dropping her eyes, ’I do suppose I obey better than if I didn’t love him.  But I hate it all the same.  It makes me feel—­like my name,’ she added with a laugh.

‘Love likes her bonds,’ the doctor repeated, shaking his head.

’And the arrow that is weighted flies freest against the wind,’ Rollo remarked.

‘What do you mean by that?’ said Primrose.  ’Duke, you look very funny with that cat upon your shoulder.’

‘Pussy likes it,’ said Rollo.

‘Dane, have you finished your business with Hazel?’ said Dr. Maryland.  ‘I must be going presently.’

‘Well, sir,—­if Prim and Arthur will excuse me.’

He brought himself, pussy cat and all, to a chair by Wych Hazel’s side.  The others drew off a little.

‘I am going away,’ he said.  ’Business takes me to New York for a week or two.  Possibly to Chicago; but I hope not.  I hope to bring your horses back with me.  Do you want to give me any directions respecting them?’

‘Directions?—­I think not.  O yes!’ said Hazel, touching her fingers to the cat’s head and instantly withdrawing them,—­’I want my pony to be very fast.  Because——­’ but there she stopped.

‘Well?’ said he.

‘That is all.’

‘It is unfinished.’

‘Cannot you do anything without knowing why?’

‘Unbusinesslike.  But I’ll do my best.’

’Well,’—­said Hazel, ’I told Mr. Falkirk.—­Of course I like to go fast, for its own sake,—­and then if I ever had to ride for my life!’—­

It was spoken so demurely that only her cheeks betrayed her.  Over their treason the girl grew impatient.

’I just want a fast horse.  Don’t you know what that means, without explanation?’

‘Why no,’ said he, probably enjoying his advantage though he held it after his usual undemonstrative fashion.  Excepting that his eyes took a further advantage which none others ever did.  No flattery in them, nor conventional deference, and nothing like Dr. Maryland’s benign regard, or Mr. Falkirk’s watchful one.  Those eyes went down into hers with a sort of grave taking possession, or holding it; something more than benignity, and coming much nearer than watchfulness.  Rollo’s manner had often an indefinable tinge of the same expression.  ‘There are so many sorts of fast horses,’ he went on.  ’Do you want to run for your life? or canter? or trot?’

‘Trot in ordinary—­run upon occasion.’

‘Is trotting your favourite gait?’