Aren't we going at a tremendous rate, Stafford?
Don't think I am nervous; I have ridden beside you too often for that.

You destroyed what nerve I possessed long ago." "We are late, and it's farther round than I thought," said Stafford.
"The horses are fresh." "I daresay; very probably Pottinger has given them a double feed; he would naturally like them to dash up in fine style.

But if it's all the same to you"-- as the horses broke into a gallop--"I should prefer to arrive at your father's 'little place' in a more dignified fashion than on a stretcher." Stafford smiled and checked the high-spirited pair.
"You talk of women as if they were a--a kind of plague; you were never in love, Howard ?" he asked.
"Never, thank Heaven!" responded Howard, devoutly.

"When I think of it, I acknowledge that I have much to be thankful for.

I was once: she was a girl with dark eyes--but I will spare you a minute description.