"Think," she said.

"It seems ever so long ago, but you cannot have forgotten.

Surely you remember Madame Aubert, who taught me to prattle in French, and the day you slipped into the music-room and picked up the song, while she tried in vain to teach it me.

Can't you recollect how I cried, when you sang it in the billiard-room, and Uncle Geoffrey gave you the half-sovereign which had been promised to me ?" "No," said Winston, a trifle hoarsely, and with his head turned from her watched the trail.
A man in embroidered deerskin jacket was riding into the moonlight, and though the little song had ceased, and the wide hat hid his face, there was an almost insolent gracefulness in his carriage that seemed familiar to Winston.

It was not the _abandon_ of the swashbuckler stock-rider from across the frontier, but something more finished and distinguished that suggested the bygone cavalier.