Florence looked at her. Julia’s habit was torn away at the waist, her hair falling on her shoulders. She looked stunned, stupid. Florence turned to Thair. “_Can_ she ride?” “I can ride,” Julia repeated dully. Thair was holding the black, but she made no motion to mount. She only stood watching the black bulk of the carriage laboring away across the broken field. Four riders waited uncertain, whispering, looking after the carriage, looking at Thair, looking at Julia. Bessie Lewis was mopping her cheeks with the wet ball of her handkerchief. She gave a hysterical gasp. “Oh, Julia, your habit!” She dabbed nervously at the skirt. Julia roused, shrinking away from the touch, turning to Thair. He almost lifted her to the saddle. But once up, she seemed to wake, to stiffen. She let him take the rein and lead the black through the ragged opening left by the torn-away rails. The carriage had turned down the road under the overarching trees. Thair watched her anxiously. He kept her rein. He turned, touching his horse lightly with the spur. “If you can ride as far as the club—” he began. She pulled herself together, alert, staring at him, at the whispering four. The rein jerked out of Thair’s hand. He half turned in his saddle, blank, dismayed, as she wheeled and rode furiously after the victoria. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XII MRS. ESSINGTON SAYS “YES” DARK had shut down in a weeping mist when the carts from the country club drove up the “Miramar” terrace. The doctor’s dry, professional presence met Mrs. Budd’s voluble anxiety on the threshold, and, in a measure, smoothed it. Oh, it was all right—all right, he assured her; only, the place must be kept quiet. (He had a grudging eye for the people getting out of the carts.) The patient ought to be moved to the cottage hospital, but—He pursed out his lips.... But Mrs. Budd wouldn’t hear of such a thing! Since the poor young man was her guest, had been hurt—she saw it dramatically—in saving her daughter— The doctor’s hands waved it away. “My dear madam, that’s not the point. I want this case under my eye.” “Oh! Is it as bad as _that_?” His look was everywhere but at her. “Not at all—the usual thing. These youngsters all do it, but—send these people away!” It was hushed enough that night, the house, but full of whispers, conjectures, things told and asked. “Why, what happened?” Nobody knew exactly. “But, afterward, you should have seen her face!” “Oh, just queer—dreadful!” “But she was that at the start!” “Then, of all things, her riding after them!” “Them!” “Why, Mrs. Essington came for him.” “Mrs. _Essington_! Well!”