Monkey Brand was before her, standing at the head of a now familiar chestnut pony, waiting, saddled, on the pillar-reins. "Is Mr. Silver down?" the girl asked, surprised. "Yes, Miss. Came late last night. Down for the week-end, I believe. He's goin' for a stretch before he looks at the 'orses," the little jockey informed her. "They're goin' to gallop Make-Way-There this morning." "Are they?" said the girl sharply. It was rarely anything took place in the stable without her knowledge. And Make-Way-There, who was one of Mr. Silver's horses, was to run at the Paris Meeting two weeks hence. The girl, to hide her resentment, placed her hand on the pony's neck, hard as marble beneath a skin that was soft to the touch as a mole's. "Ain't he a little clinker?" said Monkey Brand in hushed voice. "They say Mr. Silver refused L600 for him at Hurlingham. And he took champion at the Poly Pony Show." The girl's hand travelled down the pony's neck with firm, strong, rhythmical stroke. "Heart of Oak!" she purred affectionately. Ragamuffin, the old roan pony in the next stall, began to move, restless and irritable. "He's jealous, is old Rags," smiled Monkey. The girl went to the roan. "Now, then, old man," she said. "Old friends first." She saddled him and led him out into the yard. Attached to the d's of the light saddle was a string forage bag such as cavalry soldiers carry. Into it she stuffed her towel and all that it contained. Monkey Brand held the pony's head as she mounted. "How's the old mare?" she asked, gathering her reins. "Four Pound?" queried the jockey. "I didn't see her this morning as I come along, Miss. She must ha' been layin' behind the trees. Another week, I should say." "William!" called the girl, and rode through the gate into the Paddock Close. * * * * * Since the Polefax Meeting Silver had come and gone continually. His week-ends he spent frequently at Putnam's, returning to London by the first train on Monday morning. "He don't like the Bank, and I don't blame him," said Old Mat. "I reck'n he'd like to be all the while in the saddle on the Downs." "Why does he stick to the Bank?" the girl blurted out. It was the only question she had ever put about Mr. Silver. "Because he's got to, my dear," replied the sagacious old man. "If he don't stick to the Bank, the Bank won't stick to him, I guess." In those months the girl had learned a good deal about Mr. Silver. He was different from the other men she knew. She had felt that at once on meeting him. She was shy with him and short; and it was rare for her to be shy with men. Indeed, in her heart she knew that she was almost afraid of him. And she had never known herself afraid of a man before. That made her angry with him, though it was no fault of his.