Sandy Macrupper, the head-groom, always thought the stables never looked so bright as during the time of Finella's visit. He had known her from her childhood, and taught her to ride her first Shetland pony. He was a hard-featured and sour-visaged old man, with that peculiarity of grooms, a very small head and puckered face. He was clad in an orthodox, long-bodied waistcoat, in one of the pockets of which a currycomb was stuck, and wore short corded breeches. He was always closely shaven, and wore a scrupulously white neckcloth, carefully tied. His grey eyes were bright and keen; his short legs had that peculiar curve that indicates a horsy individual. And when the ladies appeared, he came forth from the harness-room with smiling alacrity, a piece of chamois-leather in one hand and a snaffle-bit in the other. 'Good-morning, miss,' said he, touching his billycock. 'Good-morning, Sandy. I want Fern and Flirt for a spin about the country to-day after luncheon;' and the sound of Finella's voice was the signal for many impatient neighs of welcome and much rattling of stall-collars and wooden balls. Fern, the favourite pad of Finella--a beautiful roan, with a deal of Arab blood in it--gave a loud whinny of delight and recognition, and thrust forward his soft tan-coloured muzzle in search of the carrot which she daily brought to regale him with; but Flirt preferred apples and sugar. Then, regardless of what stablemen might be looking on, she put her arms round Flirt's neck, and rubbed her peach-like cheek against his velvety nose. On hearing of the projected ride, at luncheon, Lady Fettercairn's face grew cloudy, and she took an opportunity of saying: 'Finella, you are putting that girl, Miss Carlyon, quite out of her place, and I won't stand it.' 'Oh, grandmamma!' exclaimed Finella, deprecatingly, 'this is only a little kindness to one who has seen better times; and she had a horse of her own in Devonshire.' 'Ah! no doubt she told you so.' The horses were duly brought round in time: Fern with his silky mane carefully and prettily plaited by the nimble little fingers of Finella--a process which old Sandy Macrupper always watched with delight and approval. And Dulcie, mounted on Flirt, a spotted grey, looked every inch a lady of the best style, in an apple-green habit of Finella's, with her golden hair beautifully coiled under a smart top-hat, put well forward over her forehead. She was perfect, to her little tan-coloured gauntlet gloves, and was--Lady Fettercairn, who glanced from the window, was compelled to admit silently--'very good form indeed.' Escorted by Shafto and a groom, they set forth; and, save for the unwelcome presence of the former, to Dulcie it was a day of delight, which she thought she never should forget.