One of the most interesting figures in the jumping competitions, the champion jump rider of Belgium, appeared in a finely-fitting uniform, with black coat, and blue riding breeches. A lithe figure with the moustachios of the Continental officer, he had a perfect seat, and took the jumps, and rode his horse at top speed at the high jump instead of at a canter, as is usually thought necessary for high jumping. Chris was also keen to observe how the horses threw up their heels with a curious sharp jerk, or wriggle, when in the act of topping an obstacle, the result of their being trained to clear bars which are slightly raised as they take their leap. After all, thought Gay, it was very like steeplechasing, with the sinister ambulance and perfect medical arrangements in the background ... that was why it interested Chris to the exclusion of herself.... She watched his face closely, as the reckless boy she had seen at Elsinore, time after time appeared, and after more than one crushing fall, limped from the arena, only to reappear, indomitable as ever, and going at the stiffest obstacles with an unconcern that Chris himself could not have beaten. Both rode for the sheer zest and love of it, both counted accidents as mere incidents that did not seriously interfere with their pleasure; yes--they would have made a pair of dare-devils to ride against each other, and there was keen envy in Chris's eyes as he watched the other. The only round without a mistake was to the credit of Belgium and Holland, and though a famous Dorset yeoman rode the fastest, and one of the most faultless courses on a superb horse, undoubtedly the honours were with the foreigners. They must have got quite a wrong impression of our hunters ridden by officers, for whether it were that the horses were unaccustomed to the scene, or that the riders felt awkward, and communicated their nervousness to their horses, they gave a very different account of themselves to what they would do any day in a cross-country run. "Just fancy that out of us all, there is only one Englishman who can compete with our visitors!" exclaimed Gay ruefully to Rensslaer, who had joined them towards the close of the steeplechase competition. "And what can you expect?" he said quietly. "A young horse-owner in this country either hunts or plays polo, or both, but he never troubles himself with showing horses, except occasionally at the semi-private shows of Ranelagh and Hurlingham. You see, the English no longer regard horsemanship as a national sport--the foreigners do; we are all wrong in that respect."