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The Talking Horse
by
‘My dear fellow!’ said the Colonel, who I could see was offended, ‘I’ve not met many horses in my time that I couldn’t get upon terms with.’
‘I think Mr. Pulvertoft is quite right,’ said Diana. ‘When a horse gets accustomed to one he does so resent a strange hand: it spoils his temper for days. I never will lend Wild Rose to anybody for that very reason!’
The Colonel fell back in the rear in a decided sulk. ‘Poor dear Colonel Cockshott!’ said Diana, ‘he is so proud of his riding, but I think he dragoons a horse. I don’t call that riding, do you?’
‘Well–hardly,’ I agreed, with easy disparagement. ‘I never believe in ruling a horse by fear.’
‘I suppose you are very fond of yours?’ she said.
‘Fond is not the word!’ I exclaimed–and it certainly was not.
‘I am not sure that what I said about lending Wild Rose would apply to you,’ she said. ‘I think you would be gentle with her.’
I was certain that I should treat her with all consideration; but as I doubted whether she would wholly reciprocate it, I said with much presence of mind, that I should regard riding her as akin to profanation.
As Brutus and I were going home, he observed that it was a good thing I had not agreed to lend him to the Colonel.
‘Yes,’ I said, determined to improve the occasion, ‘you might not have found him as considerate as–well, as some people!’
‘I meant it was a good thing for you!’ he hinted darkly, and I did not care to ask for an explanation. ‘What did you mean,’ he resumed, ‘by saying that I should not admire Wild Rose? Why, she is charming–charming!’
‘In that case,’ I said, ‘I don’t mind riding with her mistress occasionally–to oblige you.’
‘You don’t mind!’ he said; ‘you will have to, my boy,–and every afternoon!’
I suppressed a chuckle: after all, man is the nobler animal. I could manage a horse–in my own way. My little ruse had succeeded: I should have no more forced introductions to mystified strangers.
And now for some weeks my life passed in a happy dream. I only lived for those hours in the Row, where Brutus turned as naturally to Wild Rose as the sunflower to the sun, and Diana and I grew more intimate every day. Happiness and security made me almost witty. I was merciless in my raillery of the eccentric exhibitions of horsemanship which were to be met with, and Diana was provoked by my comments to the sweetest silvery laughter. As for Colonel Cockshott, whom I had once suspected of a desire to be my rival, he had long become a ‘negligible quantity;’ and if I delayed in asking Diana to trust me with her sweet self, it was only because I found an epicurean pleasure in prolonging a suspense that was so little uncertain.
And then, without warning, my riding was interrupted for a while. Brutus was discovered, much to his annoyance, to have a saddle-raw, and was even so unjust as to lay the blame on me, though, for my own part, I thought it a mark of apt, though tardy, retribution. I was not disposed to tempt Fortune upon any other mount, but I could not keep away from the Row, nevertheless, and appeared there on foot. I saw Diana riding with the Colonel, who seemed to think his opportunity had come at last; but whenever she passed the railings on which I leaned, she would raise her eyebrows and draw her mouth down into a little curve of resigned boredom, which completely reassured me. Still, I was very glad when Brutus was well again, and we were cantering down the Row once more, both in the highest spirits.
‘I never heard the horses here whinny so much as they do this season,’ I said, by way of making conversation. ‘Can you account for it at all?’ For he sometimes gave me pieces of information which enabled me to impress Diana afterwards by my intimate knowledge of horses.