I was glad she did not give me time to reply, for I had not intended to expose myself to her ridicule. She was off again at a gallop towards the Hall, straight for the less accessible of the two gates, and had scrambled the mare up to the very bell-pull and rung it before I could get near her. When the porter appeared in the wicket-- ‘Open the gate, Jansen,’ she said. ‘I want to see Mrs Wilson, and I don’t want to get down.’ ‘But horses never come in here, Miss,’ said the man. ‘I mean to make an exception in favour of this mare,’ she answered. The man hesitated a moment, then retreated--but only to obey, as we understood at once by the creaking of the dry hinges, which were seldom required to move. ‘You won’t mind holding her for me, will you?’ she said, turning to me. I had been sitting mute with surprise both at the way in which she ordered the man, and at his obedience. But now I found my tongue. ‘Don’t you think, Miss Coningham,’ I said--for the man was within hearing, ‘we had better leave them both with the porter, and then we could go in together? I’m not sure that those flags, not to mention the steps, are good footing for that mare.’ ‘Oh! you’re afraid of your animal, are you?’ she rejoined. ‘Very well.’ ‘Shall I hold your stirrup for you?’ Before I could dismount, she had slipped off, and begun gathering up her skirt. The man came and took the horses. We entered by the open gate together. ‘How can you be so cruel, Clara?’ I said. ‘You _will_ always misinterpret me! I was quite right about the flags. Don’t you see how hard they are, and how slippery therefore for iron shoes?’ ‘You might have seen by this time that I know quite as much about horses as you do,’ she returned, a little cross, I thought. ‘You can ride ever so much better,’ I answered; ‘but it does not follow you know more about horses than I do. I once saw a horse have a frightful fall on just such a pavement. Besides, does one think _only_ of the horse when there’s an angel on his back?’ It was a silly speech, and deserved rebuke. ‘I’m not in the least fond of _such_ compliments,’ she answered. By this time we had reached the door of Mrs Wilson’s apartment. She received us rather stiffly, even for her. After some commonplace talk, in which, without departing from facts, Clara made it appear that she had set out for the express purpose of paying Mrs Wilson a visit, I asked if the family was at home, and finding they were not, begged leave to walk into the library. ‘We’ll go together,’ she said, apparently not caring about a tête-à-tête with Clara. Evidently the old lady liked her as little as ever. We left the house, and entering again by a side door, passed on our way through the little gallery, into which I had dropped from the roof. ‘Look, Clara, that is where I came down,’ I said.