It was probably the blue line of coast on the horizon which set us to that, and perhaps something of a desire on my part to show her that, if she had been learning things at the Miss Maugers, I also had been learning in the greater world outside.
It was very different from the talk that usually passes between riders on Riding Day.

For every horse that day is supposed to carry three, though one of them nestles so close between the others that only bits of him may be seen at times in their eyes and faces.
But it was all no use.

With young Torode in my mind, and Jean Le Marchant's probable intentions respecting Carette, and Carette's own wonderful growth which seemed to put us on different levels, and the smallness of my own prospects,--I could not bring myself to venture any loverly talk, though my heart was full of loving thoughts and growing intention.
I had been telling her of the doings in Paris, and in Nantes and elsewhere, and she had been dreadfully interested in it all, when suddenly she jumped up with a sharp-- "Phil, you are horrid to-day.

I believe you have been telling me all these things just because Monsieur Torode is a Frenchman." "Torode ?--Pardie, I had forgotten Torode for the moment! He is too young to have had any hand in those doings, anyway." "All the same he is a Frenchman, and it was Frenchmen who did them." "And you think I was hitting at him behind his back! It is not behind his back I will hit him if needs be and the time comes.

But I had no thought of him, Carette.