Everybody watched for the appearance of Jack Blair and Mrs. Blair, as the crowd waits for the condemned at an execution. At last they were seen entering the enclosure. Both of them were well mounted, and Mrs. Blair’s black habit fell against the satin coat of Black Bess. She wore a hat and feathers and sat her horse like a Di Vernon. A delicate pink was in her cheeks, and her eyes, which were usually soft, were sparkling. If Skelton or anybody else expected her to show any signs of weakness, they were much mistaken. Blair was at his best on horseback, and he had become infected by his wife’s courage. As they rode into the infield they were greeted cordially, Skelton coming up, hat in hand, to make his compliments to Mrs. Blair, who stopped her horse quite close to the Shapleigh carriage. The women spoke to each other affably. Lewis was still in the carriage as Skelton moved off. Mrs. Blair at that moment regretted as keenly as Sylvia that Alabaster had ever been heard of. Old Tom was there then, all sympathy and bluff good-nature. He felt sorry for Mrs. Blair, and wanted to show it. “How d’ye do, Mrs. Blair? Deuced brave woman you are to trust yourself on that restless beast!” for Black Bess, irritated by the people pressing about her, threw her head in the air and began to dance about impatiently. “Why, this is the very safest creature in the county,” answered Mrs. Blair, patting her horse’s neck to quiet her. She was so smiling, so calm, that Tom Shapleigh was astounded. “Look here, ma’am,” he cried, “you’re a mighty fine woman”--and then stopped awkwardly. Mrs. Blair fully appreciated the situation, and Black Bess, just then showing symptoms of backing into Mrs. Shapleigh’s lap, a reply was avoided. Sylvia uttered a little cry, as Black Bess’s hind feet scraped against the wheel and her long black tail switched about uncomfortably in the carriage. “Don’t be afraid,” cried Mrs. Blair, with sarcastic politeness, “I can manage her.” “I hope so,” devoutly answered Sylvia; and old Tom asked: “Blair, why do you let your wife ride that restless creature?” “Because I can’t prevent her,” answered Blair, laughing. “When Mrs. Blair wants Black Bess saddled she has it done. I’m the most petticoated man in the county.” At which Mrs. Blair laughed prettily. The hen-pecked men are never the ones who parade the fact openly.