Belinda was elected, more often than any of her fellow-teachers, to take the girls to the riding-school; and, on the whole, she liked the task, for it gave her a quiet hour with a book while the young equestriennes tore up the tanbark or were out and away in the Park. She merely represented the conventions, and her position was more or less of a sinecure. Occasionally she watched the girls who took their lessons indoors, and she conceived a violent dislike for one of the masters--a Frenchman with an all-conquering manner and an impertinent smile; but she never thought of taking the manner and smile seriously. If it occurred to her that the swaggering Frenchman devoted himself to Eva May more persistently than to any of the other pupils, she set the thing down to Gallic spirit and admired the instructor's bravery. Mounted upon a sturdy horse built more for strength than for speed, Evangeline Marie was an impressive sight, but she brought to the exercise an energy and a devotion that surprised everyone who knew her. "She'll not make the effort more than once," Miss Lucilla had said; but the weeks went by and still Eva May went to her riding-lessons with alacrity and regularity. She said that she was riding to reduce her flesh and had lost six pounds, and the cause seemed so worthy that the phenomenon soon ceased to excite wonder. In course of time the other schoolgirls who belonged to the riding contingent dropped the fad, but still Evangeline Marie was faithful. All through April and into the fragrant Maytime she went religiously to the riding-school twice a week, but all of her lessons were taken outdoors now, and Belinda waited upon a bench near the Park entrance, thankful to be out in the spring world. A good-looking young man, wearing his riding clothes and sitting his horse in a fashion that bespoke long acquaintance with both, passed the bench with surprising frequency, and in course of time it was borne in upon the Youngest Teacher that his unfailing appearance during Eva May's lessons was too methodical to be a mere coincidence. But, beyond a smile in his eyes, the horseman gave no sign of interest in the lonely figure upon the bench, so there was no reason for resentment, and Belinda learned to look for the bay horse and its boyish rider and for the smiling eyes with a certain pleasant expectation that relieved her chaperoning duty of dullness. One morning she sat upon her own particular bench with a book open in her lap and a listless content written large upon her. Green turf and leafy boughs and tufts of blossoms stretched away before her. There were lilac scents in the warm spring air and the birds were twittering jubilates. The man on the bay horse had ridden past once, and the smile in his eyes had seemed more boyish than ever. She wondered when he would come by again--and then, looking down the shaded drive, she saw him coming.