Our talk was interrupted by the appearance of a gentleman on horseback approaching us. I thought at first it was Clara’s father, setting out for home, and coming to bid us good-bye; but I soon saw I was mistaken. Not, however, until he came quite close, did I recognize Geoffrey Brotherton. He took off his hat to my companion, and reined in his horse. ‘Are you going to give us in charge for trespassing, Mr Brotherton?’ said Clara. ‘I should be happy to _take_ you in charge on any pretence, Miss Coningham. This is indeed an unexpected pleasure.’ Here he looked in my direction. ‘Ah!’ he said, lifting his eyebrows, ‘I thought I knew the old horse! What a nice cob _you_‘ve got, Miss Coningham.’ He had not chosen to recognize me, of which I was glad, for I hardly knew how to order my behaviour to him. I had forgotten nothing. But, ill as I liked him, I was forced to confess that he had greatly improved in appearance--and manners too, notwithstanding his behaviour was as supercilious as ever to me. ‘Do you call her a cob, then?’ said Clara. ‘I should never have thought of calling her a cob.--She belongs to Mr Cumbermede.’ ‘Ah!’ he said again, arching his eyebrows as before, and looking straight at me as if he had never seen me in his life. I think I succeeded in looking almost unaware of his presence. At least so I tried to look, feeling quite thankful to Clara for defending my mare: to hear her called a cob was hateful to me. After listening to a few more of his remarks upon her, made without the slightest reference to her owner, who was not three yards from her side, Clara asked him, in the easiest manner-- ‘Shall you be at the county ball?’ ‘When is that?’ ‘Next Thursday.’ ‘Are you going?’ ‘I hope so.’ ‘Then will you dance the first waltz with me?’ ‘No, Mr Brotherton.’ ‘Then I am sorry to say I shall be in London.’ ‘When do you rejoin your regiment?’ ‘Oh! I’ve got a month’s leave.’ ‘Then why won’t you be at the ball?’ ‘Because you won’t promise me the first waltz.’ ‘Well--rather than the belles of Minstercombe should--ring their sweet changes in vain, I suppose I must indulge you.’ ‘A thousand thanks,’ he said, lifted his hat, and rode on. My blood was in a cold boil--if the phrase can convey an idea. Clara rode on homewards without looking round, and I followed, keeping a few yards behind her, hardly thinking at all, my very brain seeming cold inside my skull. There was small occasion as yet, some of my readers may think. I cannot help it--so it was. When we had gone in silence a couple of hundred yards or so, she glanced round at me with a quick sly half-look, and burst out laughing. I was by her side in an instant: her laugh had dissolved the spell that bound me. But she spoke first. ‘Well, Mr Cumbermede?’ she said, with a slow interrogation. ‘Well, Miss Coningham?’ I rejoined, but bitterly, I suppose.