"I don't know. Lameness in a horse is generally an impenetrable mystery. One only knows that he is lame. The stable will find half a dozen theories to account for it, and the vet will find a seventh, and very likely they may all be wrong. I'll walk with you to the high-road at least." "And give the poor horse extra work. Not for the world!" "Then I'll take him on till I am within halloo of the stables, and then come back to you, if you'll walk on very slowly." "Pray don't! I am not at all afraid of the dusk." "Please walk slowly," he answered, looking back at her and hurrying on with his horse. Suzette was vexed at his persistence; but she did not want to be rude to him, were it only for his mother's sake. How much better it would have been had he gone straight home to cheer that fond mother by his company, instead of wasting his time by walking to Matcham, as he would perhaps insist upon doing. He looked white and haggard, Suzette thought; but that might only be the effect of the evening light, or it might be that he was tired after a laborious day. She had not much time to think about him. His footsteps sounded on the road behind her. He was running to overtake her. It occurred to her that she might turn this persistence of his to good account. She might talk to him about his mother, and urge him to spend a little more of his time at home, and do a little more to brighten that lonely life. "I met one of the lads," he said, "and got rid of that poor brute." "I am so sorry you should think it necessary to come with me." "You mean you are sorry that I should snatch a brief and perilous joy--half an hour in your company--after having abstained from pleasure and peril so long." "If you are going to talk nonsense, I shall go back to the house and ask your mother to send me home in her brougham." "Then I won't talk nonsense. I don't want to offend you; and you are so easily offended. Something offended you in our duets. What was it, I wonder? Some ignorant sin of mine? some passage played _troppo appassionato_? some _cantabile_ phrase that sounded like a sigh from an over-laden heart! Did the music speak too plainly, Suzette?" "This is too bad of you!" exclaimed Suzette, pale with anger. "You take a mean advantage of finding me alone here. I won't walk another step with you!" She turned and walked quickly in the opposite direction as she spoke; but she was some distance from the house, at least ten minutes' walk, and her heart sank at the thought of how much Geoffrey Wornock could say to her in ten minutes. Her heart was beating violently, louder and faster than she had ever felt it beat. Did it matter so much what nonsense he might talk to her--idle breath from idle lips? Yes, it seemed to her to matter very much. She would be guilty of unpardonable treason to Allan if she let this man talk. It seemed to her as if these wild words of his--mere rodomontade--made an epoch in her life.