Livingstone consulted his program. “It’s down on this side,” he said. She followed him mechanically, with her eyes wandering toward the ring, till presently they stopped. “Hello!” she heard them call to Livingstone, as he stepped in ahead of her, and the next moment she realized that she was in the very box which she had watched from her seat among the chairs. “I want to present you to my friend Miss Stanton,” Livingstone said. He repeated the names, but they made no impression upon her, because there, standing in front of her, was the young man who had ridden Lady Washington. “You seem to know each other,” said Livingstone. “Am I wasting my breath? Is this a joke?” He looked at Angelica. She was speechless with mixed joy and embarrassment. “Come here, my dear,” said one of the two pretty women, “and sit down beside me. Miss Stanton,” she went on to Livingstone, “very kindly tried to teach Reggie how to ride Hermione, and we are glad to have the chance to thank her.” “I don’t understand at all,” said Livingstone. “But there are so many things that I shall never understand that one more makes no difference.” Angelica’s self-confidence began to come back. “Why, he was riding Lady Washington with a whip,” she explained. “And I just called out to him not to. You remember Lady Washington,—she was a four-year-old when you were at the Pines,—and you know you never could touch her with a whip.” “I remember very well,” said Livingstone. “You flattered me by offering to let me ride her, an offer which, I think, I declined. When did you sell her?” “Two years ago,” said Angelica. Then the other young woman spoke. “But how did you recognize the horse?” she asked. “You haven’t seen it for two years.” “Recognize her!” exclaimed Angelica. “I guess if you had ever owned Lady Washington you would have recognized her. I broke her as a two-year-old, and schooled her myself. Jim says she’s the best mare we ever had.” Angelica looked at the woman pityingly. She was sweet-looking and had beautiful clothes, but she was evidently a goose. “Miss Stanton won the high jump with the mare,” Livingstone remarked, “at their hunt show down in Virginia.” “It was only six feet,” said the girl, “but she can do better than that. Jim wouldn’t let me ride her at anything bigger.” “I should hope not,” said the lady by whose side she was sitting. Then she asked suddenly, “You are not Jimmie Stanton’s sister?” “Yes,” said Angelica. “I’d like to know why he hasn’t brought you to see me!”