"I think you always come off conqueror in a fight with self," she said. "Every one who knows you would say that you are ever ready to speak of your blessings, and that your trials are kept to yourself. I, on the contrary, have but a single grievance, and I take every opportunity of airing it. Most girls would be so glad and thankful to be placed as I am, that they would forget they had an excuse for grumbling at all." "I am going to try not to spoil your drive, dear, but, like the parrot we have all read about, I am afraid I shall 'think the more.'" "However, I will confess beforehand the spirit that is in me. I am seeing Mrs. Stapleton and her surroundings all the time. I am forced to own that her turn-out is perfection, but I am certain my Polly is equal to her Princess any day; that I should look as well as she does, and equal her at managing my horse, if I had the chance; that Polly would fly over the ground, and, as I am a lighter weight, would pass her steed like the wind. And all the while we are lumbering on in a carriage with old Mountain on the box, as if I were a dowager of seventy, instead of a girl not quite twenty. I have everything, but I am debarred from what I most long for, and the 'but' spoils the rest. I have done now, aunty. Said all that was in my mind. Now I shall struggle after a more contented spirit, and, whether I get it or not, I mean to be outwardly amiable for your sake." Kathleen laid her hand on Mrs. Ellicott's. The latter pressed it lovingly, and no more was said about the girl's grievance. Old Mountain, on the box, had thoughts very similar to those which exercised the mind of his young mistress, when Mrs. Stapleton cantered past. "She looks a picture, a real pretty picture," thought he. "But our young miss would beat her on Polly. It does seem a pity she should be inside a carriage instead of outside a horse, though anybody might be proud to drive the like of Miss Kathleen. She's the image of her mother, and has a deal of her spirit too. No doubt the master saw it, and felt it would be best to make her promise as he did. Whether she likes it or not, he meant it for her good, and her poor mother paid dearly for breaking her word, though I don't suppose Miss Kathleen knows about that." The coachman was right. Kathleen only knew that a few years ago, before the death of her father, he had exacted a promise from her to the effect that, so long as she remained unmarried, she would never join the Hollingsby or any other hunt. "I say, so long as you are unmarried, Kathleen; for I hold that the wishes of the father, whether living or dead, must yield to those of the husband, when the daughter becomes a wife. But give me this promise, and a pledge that you will never appear on horseback, at meet or in the hunting-field, so long as you are Kathleen Mountford, and never after you change your name, except by the wish of your husband, and under his protection."