In a loose-box stood a silver roan of about fifteen hands, with a long black tail and mane. “This is mine⁠—Fairy.”

“Ah!” said Val, “she’s a jolly palfrey. But you ought to bang her tail. She’d look much smarter.” Then catching her wondering look, he thought suddenly: “I don’t know⁠—anything she likes!” And he took a long sniff of the stable air. “Horses are ripping, aren’t they? My Dad⁠ ⁠…” he stopped.

“Yes?” said Holly.

An impulse to unbosom himself almost overcame him⁠—but not quite. “Oh! I don’t know⁠—he’s often gone a mucker over them. I’m jolly keen on them too⁠—riding and hunting. I like racing awfully, as well; I should like to be a gentleman rider.” And oblivious of the fact that he had but one more day in town, with two engagements, he plumped out:

“I say, if I hire a gee tomorrow, will you come a ride in Richmond Park?”