“Alice, did you hear me?” leaning towards her and placing his hand on her horse’s crest. “Yes, I heard you. You are not my father confessor, be pleased to remember,” she replied, closing her lips resolutely. She felt an insane desire to tease him, and proceeded: “Perhaps, if you tell me two or three things, I will tell you.” “Go on, then. What do you wish to know?” “In the first place, am I as pretty as I was as Alice Saville?” “Really--I--I have never given the subject a thought.” (Oh Reginald!) “Well; go on. I’m waiting.” “Yes”--looking at her boldly and taking in every item of her fair high-bred face, mischievous smile, and lovely laughing eyes--“I suppose you are.” What a rude, indefinite way of putting it! “Is my riding as good as ever?” “Yes,” most emphatically. “Is my temper improved?” “How can I tell? I have had no practical demonstration of one of your passions as yet. But I should say--your temper was now as equable and unruffled as the corn in that field.” “How is _yours_?” abruptly. “Mine! Much as usual, thank you,” with an amused, superior smile. “Well, now, as you have answered my questions, it is only fair to answer yours.” “Yes,” he replied, looking at her eagerly. “I would rather”--emphasizing every word--“be Alice _Somebody_ than anyone else in the whole world. _Now_ are you much wiser?” she added, giving him a mischievous glance. “Of course! I KNOW, Alice, although you won’t tell me. But even if we had never met, you would not be Alice Saville now; so what is the good of wishing for your maiden-name? You would have been married long ago--subject to my consent,” with a sardonic smile he could not express. “We _were_ very happy once, Reg,” she said with a deep sigh. “Neither of us had tempers--once. Have you forgotten?” He has not forgotten; he never can forget. Nevertheless, he abruptly put an end to her reminiscences, saying: “Alice, there is nothing to be gained by referring to the past, nothing but pain. My past is dead and buried; the sooner you put yours under the ground the better. _Never_ allude to our married life again. Let it be as though it had never been; it was a _fiasco_, a MISTAKE! We have only to deal with the present and the future.” “The present and the future,” she echoed, choking back her tears. The sound of their horses’ hoofs on the soft springy turf was the only sound that broke the silence for more than ten minutes. Presently she said: “What is _your_ future?--what are you going to do?” “I mean to have a look at Looton, a winter’s hunting in the shires, and to return to India in the spring.” “To India!” she gasped. “Reginald, does it ever, _ever_ strike you how cruel you are to me?” “Cruel!” he echoed, looking into her wistful beautiful eyes with stern self-command. “God help you, Alice, if I was ever as cruel to you as you have been to me. Come,” he added, putting his horse into a canter, “here is the lane to the Manister road; we had better get on.”