Holden, who, at the instant, had pulled up his horses at the steps, took the expression to himself with simplicity. The concentration with which he took in what was immediately before him, without regard to things behind or beyond, was a relief to her. Now his hands were so full of his horses that he had hardly a glance for her. The impatient sorrels were making preliminary attempts to run over the groom at their bits. “Can you make it?” Holden said, as he brought the runabout to momentary quiet. She was in with the dart of a swallow. The groom sprang aside, and Florence felt herself precipitated, as in one plunge, toward the sea. “Hey, hey!” Holden growled under his breath. The reins were taut, and his arm, brushing her shoulder, was as stiff as steel. The animals, curbed and quivering, danced down the slope like fine ladies, shaking their heads with a vague threat of another outburst. “They’re crazy for a run,” Holden murmured caressingly. “We’ll have to head that procession,” and he nodded toward the group stringing through the gate. “That is what I should like,” said Florence. “Then we’ll put them clean out of sight,” he answered. They passed the foremost riders as these were swinging into the coast road, and for a few moments Florence saw oaks and ocean as a blur of olive-green pierced with flashes of bright blue. “Too fast?” Holden inquired, his eyes on the horses’ ears. “It couldn’t be!” she answered with excitement. The rapid motion was what her mood needed to fire it. It lit a spark in her cold, lethargic determination. She was possessed with that feeling of triumph speed creates—a physical elation, a surety that nothing in life could stand still again. A faint color grew in her cheeks. Her eyes had a fire that seldom burned in their somber pupils; a color and a fire that Holden marked in his greater leisure, with the slackened speed of the horses rising the steep hill. “You look so lit up,” he told her, half wonderingly. “It’s the driving,” she explained, “or rather flying. We hardly seemed to touch earth.” “Just driving!” He was amused. “Well, I like it. It’s my play. It’s famous to have a strong, lively pair of brutes under your hand to hurry or pull up as you like.” Florence looked as though that pleasure were quite within her comprehension. “But,” he added, with another look at her glowing face, “it would take the biggest deal in the country to make me feel within twenty miles of the way you look.” “Oh, do I look all that?” She seemed so to comprehend! He warmed under the kindness of her fancy. “You know I want above all things to please you,” he began. “Aren’t we friends enough not to have to please each other?” she quickly interposed. She wanted so to keep him off that dangerous ground. “You people have such a way with words!” he protested, with a head-shake as large and impatient as a bull’s. “We people?” she demanded with gay asperity.