Her heart warmed to him as she thought of how he had spared her the humiliation of knowing that Mackrell and she had been playing at a bad make-believe all the time, that the difference between their horses and Rensslaer's was, that his had quality, shape, and soundness--they looked like well-bred chargers, carried themselves with perfect balance, their hind legs well under them, stopping at a word without any pulling or fighting, and when the mile was finished, standing quite still. The sort of horse to which she and Carlton were accustomed, were mostly unsound old screws which had a fast record in America many years before, but having broken down, or being otherwise cheap, had been bought and patched up, then raced in England. At first they had horrified Gay, these poor old raw-boned pacers with bent knees and hobbles, pulling all on one rein, with any amount of appliances to enable the man who was pulling for dear life to be able to hold them, or else little rats of Iceland ponies shuffling along, and only fit to be seen in a coster's barrow. "And to think," cried Gay, in tragic tones, "that Carlton and I fancied _ourselves_--our trotters, I mean!" "Of course," said Rensslaer, "although speed is the first essential, I will have no horse which is not absolutely sound, has not good manners, and does not have to wear boots (except as a precaution against accident when racing), and a light mouth." Gay nodded. She had for the first time discovered how deceptive the long, raking stride of a record trotter is, for without appearing to move fast, he is yet making phenomenal time on the track, as drawing the light, four-wheeled racing wagon with rubber-tyred bicycle wheels, he glides smoothly along. Then one by one, or in pairs, the finest animals in the stables were shown. Yet with so little effort did horse after horse, team after team, draw up under the trees in the background, and succeed each other, that they only blended with the beauty of the landscape, did not disturb it, and Gay presently gave a great sigh of delight. "Oh," she said, "it's too much! I'd like the whole world to enjoy it--it's too good for poor little me!" "Well," said Rensslaer quietly, "it will--later." It was a lovely day, with zephyr breezes--the great charm of it all was, that there was nothing to suggest the circus or show ring, no crowd, no betting, no shouting hoarse voices to break the peace, only splendid animals full of fire, energy, and work, who were just going at their best for sheer joy in life, joy in their own swiftness, strength and beauty, delighted to run their race with the green sward underfoot, and the blue sky overhead.