CHAPTER VII. NONE BUT THE BRAVE. “Really, Mab,” said Dick irritably, “your horses are more bother than they are worth. Why don’t you set up a motor-car?” “How horrid you are, Dick! Any one would think it was my fault that all these things happen. How could I help one of the other horses’ kicking Majnûn as they were coming back from watering? I am sure it was that wretched Bayard of yours--cross old thing! At any rate, the syce declares it’s impossible for Majnûn to go out to-day, and I can see it myself. You can go round and look at the state his leg is in.” “Oh, all right; I’ll take your word for it. But what are you going to do?” “The syce’s sole idea is to send down to Mr Anstruther’s for Laili, but I don’t care to ride her again just yet.” “No, I certainly won’t have you mount her until Anstruther can give a better report of her proceedings. Well, you had better take Georgie’s old Simorgh, as she and I are to do Darby and Joan in the dog-cart.” “He’s so horribly and aggressively meek. I don’t want a horse whose sole title to distinction is that in prehistoric days he carried his mistress to Kubbet-ul-Haj and back without once running away. I am going to ride Roy, Dick.” “My dear Mabel, pray have some regard for appearances. Will nothing but a mighty war-horse satisfy your aspiring mind?” “That’s just it. He’s so big that it must feel like riding on an elephant. I should love to ride him, and you know it’s perfectly safe. A child could manage him--you said so yourself.” “No, really, Mab. An appreciative country doesn’t provide me with chargers merely to furnish a mount for you.” “Then I shall borrow a horse from somebody. Mr Burgrave would lend me anything he possesses in the way of horseflesh--he said so,” declared Mabel vindictively. “I daresay, and rejoice when it came to grief, so that he might nobly refuse any compensation. Oh, take Roy, and Bayard too, if you like, and make the whole show into a circus, but don’t put me under an obligation to Burgrave.”