"I've been a miserable little fool." She stopped with a little catch of the breath, flamed red, and plunged on. Her level eyes never flinched from his. "I've got to out with it, Clay. You won't misunderstand, I know. I was jealous. I wanted to keep your friendship to myself--didn't want to share it with another girl. That's how mean I am." A warm smile lit his face. "I've sure enough found my friend again this mo'nin'." Her smile met his. Then, lest barriers fall too fast between them, she put her horse to a gallop. As they moved into the Park a snorting automobile leaped past them with muffler open. The horse upon which Beatrice rode was a young one. It gave instant signals of alarm, went sunfishing on its hind legs, came down to all fours, and bolted. Beatrice kept her head. She put her weight on the reins with all the grip of her small, strong hands. But the horse had the bit in its teeth. She felt herself helpless, flying wildly down the road at incredible speed. Bushes and trees, the reeling road, a limousine, a mounted policeman, all flew by her with blurred detail. She became aware of the rapid thud of hoofs behind, of a figure beside her riding knee to knee, of a brown hand taking hold of the rein close to the bit. The speed slackened. The horses pounded to a halt. The girl found herself trembling. She leaned back in a haze of dizziness against an arm which circled her shoulder and waist. Memory leaped across the years to that other time when she had rested in his arms, his heart beating against hers. In that moment of deep understanding of herself, Beatrice knew the truth beyond any doubt. A new heaven and a new earth were waiting for her, but she could not enter them. For she herself had closed the gate and locked it fast. His low voice soothed and comforted her. "I'm all right," she told him. Clay withdrew his arm. "I'd report that fellow if I had his number," he said. "You stick to yore saddle fine. You're one straight-up rider." "I'll ask Mr. Bromfield to give you fifty dollars' again," she laughed nervously. That word _again_ stuck in his consciousness. "You've known me all along," he charged. "Of course I've known you--knew you when you stood on the steps after you had tied the janitor." "I knew you, too." "Why didn't you say so?" "Did you expect me to make that grand-stand play on the _parada_ a claim on yore kindness? I didn't do a thing for you that day any man wouldn't have done. I happened to be the lucky fellow that got the chance. That's all. Come to that, it was up to you to do the recognizing if any was done. I had it worked out that you didn't know me, but once or twice from things you said I almost thought you did." "I meant to tell you sometime, but--well, I wanted to see how long you could keep from telling me. Now you've done it again." "I'd like to ride with you the rest of yore life," he said unexpectedly.