They met seldom, it is true, for most of his day was spent in motoring and speaking, and most of Courtier's in writing and riding, his leg being still too weak for walking.

But once or twice in the smoking room late at night, he had embarked on some bantering discussion with the champion of lost causes; and very soon an ill-concealed impatience had crept into his voice.

Why a man should waste his time, flogging dead horses on a journey to the moon, was incomprehensible! Facts were facts, human nature would never be anything but human nature! And it was peculiarly galling to see in Courtier's eye a gleam, to catch in his voice a tone, as if he were thinking: "My young friend, your soup is cold!" On a morning after one of these encounters, seeing Barbara sally forth in riding clothes, he asked if he too might go round the stables, and started forth beside her, unwontedly silent, with an odd feeling about his heart, and his throat unaccountably dry.
The stables at Monkland Court were as large as many country houses.
Accommodating thirty horses, they were at present occupied by twenty-one, including the pony of little Ann.

For height, perfection of lighting, gloss, shine, and purity of atmosphere they were unequalled in the county.

It seemed indeed impossible that any horse could ever so far forget himself in such a place as to remember that he was a horse.