"You should have more exercise. I do my best thinking on horseback. Do you remember our rides together? You thought I was a stern riding-master, didn't you?"
"Our rides together," she murmured, and in a flash saw herself and Renny galloping along the lake shore, heard the mad thud of hoofs, the strain of leather, saw again the shining, flying manes. Her breath came quickly, as though she had indeed been riding. "How is Letty?" she asked. Letty was the mare she had ridden.
"Beautiful as ever. Ready—waiting for you to ride her again."
"I am afraid I shall never do that," she said, in a low voice.
"Aren't you ever coming to visit us?"
"Renny," she said with sudden passion, "we said good-bye on that last night. You should not have come here to see me."
"Have I disturbed you?" he asked. "You look cool enough in all conscience."
"That is what I wish to be. I—I want to forget the past."
He spoke soothingly, as to a nervous horse. "Of course. Of course. That's right, too. I should never have come if I weren't so worried about Eden."
She opened her eyes wide. "I cannot do anything for Eden," she said, abruptly.
"Not come to see him?"
"Go to see Eden! I could not possibly. Why should I?"
"When you have seen him you won't ask that question. He's a sick man. I don't believe he'll get over this. His mother went in consumption, you know."
Consumption! They would still call it that at Jalna. What a terrible word!
"I am the last person Eden would want to see."
"You're mistaken. He's terribly keen to see you."
"But why?"
"There's no accounting for the desires of anyone as ill as Eden. Possibly he has something to say to you that he thinks is important."
