I continued to be quite in the dark as to his plans for the future and didn’t like at all to be fed upon chance scraps, I wanted a whole bone. I don’t know when in all my life I had been more vexed and had shed such hot passionate tears; but pride arose, forbidding my heart to ache for the loss of his love. What was the use of crying my eyes out? I was determined to forget Serge Michailovitch, putting him as much as possible out of my thoughts and passing a sponge over our love affair. To keep my spirits up, I rushed into all sorts of adventures, exposing myself to ill-natured comments. People began to say nasty things of me, and my aunt Roerberg implored me to put a stop to my disgraceful flirtations, warning me that the talk would reach the ears of Serge Michailovitch. She tried to excuse his conduct in my eyes and said that, as his experiences were much wider than mine, he was more cool-headed, and knew what he was about, therefore he could not act inconsiderately in such a serious matter as marriage. Yes, but as for me, being prompt and vivacious I hated delays, and could not possibly just take time and think things over like him, I can’t. I can’t stop and wait! I continued to wear a steel armour over my heart, and I now spent much of my time out of doors, riding. Serge Michailovitch had permitted me, during his absence, to mount his lovely arab, a young and spirited horse who proved sufficiently troublesome the first time I mounted him. I had to spring hastily into my saddle, the horse gave a bound when the groom left his head, and set off galloping like the wind. My hand was nearly dislocated with the strain of holding him; I succeeded in managing my fiery steed and brought him to a stand-still before a villa inhabited by Mrs. Blicks, a charming lady whom I knew only by sight. She happened to be on her balcony just then, and invited me to dismount, in order to recover myself from my fright. My wrist was aching a good deal and had begun to swell. After Mrs. Blicks had bound it up, I remounted my arab who behaved perfectly well on our way home. After my first break-neck ride I succeeded to be mistress of my horse; he went like a lamb now, and I felt as much at home on his back as in a rocking-chair.