Miss Crofton was decidedly a clever woman; if there was one thing on which in his secret soul Harry prided himself, it was on his driving; and this practical compliment, standing as it unfortunately did in somewhat marked contrast to his wife’s feminine dislike of certain contentions with “queer tempered” horses, which had at odd times come in for a specimen of Coverdale’s “quiet manner,” appealed to his weak point--he was mortal, and it touched him, and at the touch his taciturnity vanished, and straightway he began to confide to his dangerous companion all his most secret thoughts and feelings in regard to----bitting hard-mouthed horses. It seemed an unlikely topic for Arabella to make much of, and yet she allowed him to run on, listening with a smile of pleased attention; for though his talk was solely equestrian, yet it served as well as any other subject to melt away the icy barrier behind which Harry had hitherto entrenched himself, and thus effectually defended himself against all attempts at a renewal of the former intimacy which appeared to have existed between them. Having explained completely to his own satisfaction the advantage which in the instance under consideration would be gained by driving “brown muzzle” up at the “cheek,” and the white-nosed horse in the “lower-bar,” together with copious notes, descriptive and explanatory, and voluminous annotations and reflections on this momentous question, Harry metaphorically resumed his seat amid continued cheering, and Arabella Crofton rose in reply. Of course she started on horses, to which she soon attached carriages, by means of which she in an incredibly short time contrived to ride back to Italy, and finding Harry stood it better than she expected, she continued in a voice indicative of deep but repressed feeling-- “Ah! that was a strange, strange summer we passed there! And yet, now I can calmly look back upon it, there were many happy hours, bright, sunny little bits, to set against the deep shadows of such a life as mine, times when I enjoyed the privilege of your friendship, before”--and here her voice faltered--“before I forfeited that and everything, even my self-respect, by my own mad folly!” She paused in emotion, and her companion replied in a kind, frank manner,-- “Why distress yourself by reviving a disagreeable reminiscence?” (as he used the word a slight shudder seemed to convulse her, and a look of pain, but not the pain of contrition, flitted across her handsome features)--“an affair which I have, as I promised you, practically forgotten, which I should never again have entered upon with you, and in regard to which my lips are sealed to every other living creature.”