We do not look at all of them.
But lo, turning the corner like some one of importance, here comes a sleek and tawny mastiff, with the silvery tinkle of a trinket which gleams on his neck.

He is proclaiming and preceding his young mistress, Mademoiselle Evelyn de Monthyon, who is riding her pony.

The little girl caracoles sedately, clad in a riding habit, and armed with a crop.

She has been an orphan for a long time.

She is the mistress of the castle.