frost, when no horse could keep his footing out of a walk!
Justine went to the window and strained her eyes for a confirming glimpse. Yes—it was Bessy! There was no mistaking that light flexible figure, every line swaying true to the beat of the horse’s stride. But Justine remembered that Bessy had not meant to ride—had countermanded her horse because of the bad going.… Well, she was a perfect horsewoman and had no doubt chosen her surest-footed mount. . . probably the brown cob, Tony Lumpkin.
But when did Tony’s sides shine so bright through the leafless branches? And when did he sweep his rider on with such long free play of the hind—quarters? Horse and rider shot into sight again, rounding the curve of the avenue near the gates, and in a break of sunlight Justine saw the glitter of chestnut flanks—and remembered that Impulse was the only chestnut in the stables.…
She went back to her seat and continued writing. Bessy had left a formidable heap of bills and letters; and when this was demolished, Justine had her own correspondence to despatch. She had heard that morning from the matron of Saint Elizabeth’s: an interesting “case” was offered her, but she must come within
two days. For the first few hours she had wavered,
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