I had helped to pick Dora's hack, and I allowed myself to reflect that he did my judgment credit.

She sat him perfectly in her wrath--she was plainly angry--not a hair out of place.

Why is it that a lady out of temper with her escort always walks away from him?
Is her horse sympathetic?
Ronald, at all events, was leading by a couple of yards, when suddenly he shied, bounding well across the road.
The mare, whose manners I can always answer for, simply stopped and looked haughtily about for explanations.

A path dropped into the road from the hillside; something came scrambling and stumbling down.
'Oh!' cried Dora, as it emerged and was Armour on his much enduring white pony, 'how you frightened us!' 'Why don't you stick to the road, man ?' I exclaimed.

'It isn't usual to put ponies up and down these coolie tracks!' He took no notice of this rather broad hint that I was annoyed, but fixed his eager, light, luminous eyes upon Dora.
'I'm sorry,' he said, and added, 'I did not expect to see you today!' 'Not till tomorrow,' she returned.