I," laughing, "never saw the horse that _I_ couldn't conquer." "You?
Look at your hands!" says Gower, laughing.
"Well, what's the matter with them ?" says she.

"My cousin, when he was riding, used to say they were made of iron." "Of velvet, rather." "No.

He said my heart was made of that." She laughs gaily, and suddenly looking up at Rylton, who is looking down at her, she fixes her eyes on his.

She spreads her little hands abroad, brown as berries though they are with exposure to all sorts of weather.

They are small brown hands, and very delicately shaped.