“I am afraid I am the culprit, really, Mr. Bradstone,” said Bertie, pleasantly. “I rode over to ask after Bessie at the Lodge, and, being lucky enough to find Miss Vanley just starting for Wainford, I persuaded her to ride to Glenmaire. Her horse really wants a little more work.” Bartley Bradstone bit his lip. After all his carefully laid plans, this young lordling had managed not only to balk him, but to snatch a _tête-à-tête_ gallop with Olivia. “I’m afraid you’ll be tired,” he said, ignoring Bertie’s explanation. “I should have thought you would have sent for the medicine.” Bertie’s eyes opened widely, and he looked at Olivia to see how she would take this piece of impertinence; but her clear, calm gaze did not change in the slightest. “Yes, I might have done so,” she said, quietly. “However, if you wish me to drive, I can change my habit in ten minutes.” “Oh, no, it isn’t worth while,” he said; “don’t trouble.” “Very well,” said Olivia, at once. With an effort Bartley Bradstone cleared the sullen cloud from his brow, and forced himself to look more amiable. “And how is the girl?” he asked. “I heard some cock-and-bull story of this accident. I always knew she’d have an accident with that brute of a pony. One of my men said that that fellow who has taken The Dell had a hand in it--startled the pony or something.” Olivia did not offer to correct this amiable representation of the affair, and stood flicking her habit with her whip in silence; but the ready flush rose to Bertie’s face in a moment, and he said: “You have heard an extraordinarily wrong version of the story. Instead of being in any way the cause of the accident, Mr. Faradeane, at some peril to his own limbs and life, stopped the pony, and saved Bessie from a serious fall.” “Oh! quite a hero,” said Bartley Bradstone, with as much of a sneer as he dared display to a viscount. “As you say, quite a hero,” assented the Cherub, simply. At that moment the squire appeared at the door, and came down the steps. “Sorry to keep you waiting, young people,” he said, in a brighter tone than usual; but his face fell as he saw that Olivia was in her habit. “I thought you were going to drive with Mr. Bradstone and me, Olivia,” he said. “And so I shall, if you will wait ten minutes,” she said. But Bartley Bradstone had got his temper under mastery by this time, and he said, quickly: “Indeed you shall not take the trouble to change, Miss Olivia. I won’t wait a minute.” And with a nod and a smile he sprang up to the box-seat and took the reins. Olivia watched them drive off in her calm, reflective way, and then allowed Bertie to lift her to her saddle. He was in the seventh heaven of delight which followed the dread of the loss of her society, and the two rode side by side, as they had ridden scores of times when they were schoolboy and schoolgirl, chatting with frank freedom on Olivia’s part, and with that half-shy timidity which the timorous lover always feels.