The next morning when she went riding, she forced herself to turn the horse’s head in the other direction from the Shirley place. But her thoughts would come back to Frank, and presently she was making excuses for herself. This man was not as other men; if he avoided her, it was not because he did not want to know her, but because of his misfortune. It was wicked that a man should be tied up in such a net of misapprehension; to get him out of it would be, not unmaidenly, but heroic. When she had met him yesterday morning, she ought to have stopped her horse, and made him stay and talk with her. She was to leave in two days more!
She turned her horse and went back; and when she was near the Shirley house—here he came!
She saw him far down the road, and so had plenty of time to get her wits together. Had he, by any chance, come out in the hope of meeting her? Or would he be annoyed by her getting in his way? Suppose he were to snub her—how could she ever get over it?
She took a diamond ring from her finger, and reached back and shoved it under the saddle-cloth. It was a “marquise” ring, with sharp points, and when she threw her weight upon it, the horse gave a jump. She repeated the action, and it began to prance. “Now then!” whispered Sylvia to herself.
He came near; and she reined up her chafing steed. “I beg pardon,” she said.
He raised his hat, and holding it, looked at her inquiringly.
“I think my horse must have a stone in his foot.”
“Oh!” he said, and was off in a moment, throwing the reins of his mount over its head and handing them to her.
He bent down and examined one hoof, then another, and so on for all four, without a word. Then, straightening up, he said, “I don’t see anything.”
He looked very serious and concerned. How “easy” he would be! “There really must be something,” she said. “He’s all in a lather.”
“There might be something deep in,” he answered, making his investigation all over again. “But I don’t see any blood.” (What a fine back he has! thought Sylvia.)
He stood up. “Let me see his mouth,” he said. “Are you sure you’ve not held him too tight?”
“Some of them have peculiarities,” he remarked. “Possibly the saddle has rubbed——”
“No, no,” answered Sylvia, in haste, as he made a move to lift the cloth.