On the road at the other side of the covert, Slaney was sitting on Isabella, the elderly brown mare, and wishing that she had stayed at home. To sit on Isabella’s back was an experience almost distinct from riding; it suggested more than anything else a school-room sofa propelled into action by a sour and sluggish sense of the inevitable, a school-room sofa that partook of the nature of the governess. Slaney’s sharply-cut face was pale and sleepless-looking; she was no longer the ethereal creature of the firelight and moonlight, merely an ill-turned-out girl, with interesting eyes and a clear skin, who appeared to be absorbed in discussing bronchitis kettles with the dispensary doctor. Lady Susan was a little farther down the road on her husband’s grey, the horse who was, so far, the only creature possessed of the knowledge that Hugh was afraid of him. He was well aware that Lady Susan was not, but that, after all, was a fact that was patent to all beholders. Mr. Glasgow, turning away from Lady Susan, and looking back as he turned, thought that she was as good a thing to look at as he had ever seen. He was on his way to Slaney, and as he neared her he attuned his eye to that expression of understanding, even of tenderness, that the occasion required. He delighted in the position; it was intricate, it was a little risky, and in spite of Slaney’s wrinkled habit and old-fashioned hat, he still recognized the attractive quality in her. He felt that it was discriminating and chivalrous of him to be able to do so, and looking down on her from the mental elevation of his assured horsemanship, and his power of being agreeable to women, he anticipated with sufficient pleasure another harmless deviation or so from the ordinary paths of friendship. “So you did come out, after all,” he began, riding possessively up to her, “in spite of the Witch! Do you know that Dan’s afraid to go into the covert, and Major Bunbury’s taking the hounds through it!” The sun shone on the top of his head as he took his hat off; Slaney had not before noticed the exact extent of his baldness. She gave him a conventional smile and nod, and went on talking to Dr. Hallahan. Glasgow waited, lighting a cigarette, and, at the next pause, spoke to her again. His eyes were full of meaning and penetration, and he knew that they were kind, but hers met them with the merest politeness as she answered him. There was a perplexed whimper from a hound down at the lower end of the covert; Glasgow caught up his reins and trotted away in the direction in which Lady Susan was already moving. This was not the moment for winding back through the maze of Slaney’s mood; he held the clue and could use it at his leisure.