But Phil barely glanced at her as she came out to her horse. His eyes, blue like her own, had a far-away expression in them, and he answered her greeting absent-mindedly. When he had put her up and mounted his own pony he rode away beside her at a walk, his look fixed ahead of him eagerly but unseeing; his lips parted in a faint smile. Behind them, at the prescribed distance, followed the red-cheeked, red-haired groom. Sue said nothing, letting her companion have all his thoughts for himself. Every now and then she gave him a quick, inquiring glance. When he broke silence at last he spoke musingly--almost as if to himself. “What a day to be at the dentist’s,” he said. “I hope he won’t hurt her.” “Dentist’s?” inquired Sue. “Who’s gone?” “Why--Miss Unger.” He coloured self-consciously. “Oh, has she?” went on Sue, surprised. “Are you sure? I thought this was the date for that lawn fête at the Fanshaws’--Greenwich, you know--for the benefit of something or other. Genevieve telephoned me she’d promised to go and sell fudge.” “But she went to town instead,”--this with finality. At this point, Sue thought of Messrs. Hammond, Graves and St. Ives, and of the oncoming contest at Hadbury. “Did you play this morning?” she asked. “I suppose the team is getting splendidly drilled.” “I suppose so,” he answered vaguely. He was looking far ahead once more. “I think I’ll ask Genevieve to drive to Hadbury with me the day of the game,” resumed Sue. He turned toward her, then, undisguised pleasure brightening his face: “How you always think of doing nice things for others!” he said. “Go, Sue. It’ll be a corking match.” “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. And, of course, I’d take Genevieve. One can’t help doing nice things for _her_. Isn’t she beautiful, Phil!” She said it earnestly. “So beautiful that most of the girls aren’t especially kind to her,” Phil answered. “Just this morning Elizabeth Carlton had to throw out something--a nasty hint, you understand. It was about Valentine, that English chap who’s been at the club so much lately.” “I really don’t know him,” returned Sue. “But I’ve heard----” “Yes, and I’ll wager it’s all true,” went on Phil hotly. “He isn’t the sort of a man you’d like to see her marry.” “Phil, you’ve fallen a victim, too,” said Sue gently. “Oh, I don’t know.” “Well, I told you you would.” After that the conversation was still of Genevieve, until the gates of Arbor Lodge were passed again--of Genevieve, the queenly; Genevieve, the faultless; and (with a little embarrassment on Phil’s part) of Genevieve, the trampler of hearts. “You’ll be at practice to-morrow morning, won’t you?” asked Sue, from the terrace steps. “Let me know when you can ride again. I hate going out alone.” Phil headed his horse toward home. “Oh, yes, I’ll play in the morning,” he answered; “but I’ll take a car out in the afternoon, probably. Good-bye, Sue.” And with Larry following hard on his tracks he galloped away.