astute to make it one in the difficult game he was about to play.
Jack was not afflicted with subtlety in any form, he was not even a close observer, but he understood well enough that it was going to be a man's work to persuade Mary Lawrence to marry him. She had an immense independence, to which, of course, she was fully entitled, a wide field of choice, and under the delightfully amusing give-and-take which endeared her to Bohemia was a fastidious reserve which somehow hinted at other standards. Even allowing for a lover's partiality this girl was to cut to a pattern far more imposing than Milly Wren. Her qualities were positive, whereas Milly had prettiness merely, a warm heart, a factitious charm. However, as soon as this sportsman had made up his mind to tackle the stiffest fence that a Nimrod has to face, he decided at once that the hour had come to harden his heart and go at the post and rails in style.
The next evening, as he strolled with Mary under the trees, he may have been thinking in metaphor, when he let his eyes dwell on the riders in the Row.
"How jolly they look!" he said. And then at the instance of a concrete thought—"By Jove, an idea! Tomorrow morning, if I job a couple of gees, will you come for a ride?"
The response was a ready one. "I should love to, if you are not afraid to be seen with an absolute duffer."
"That's a bargain. But they may be screws, as there doesn't seem enough decent ones to go round at this time of the year."
"I know nothing about horses," was the laughing reply, "except just enough not to look a hired horse
