The horse was not his, truly, but he believed he knew how to take care of it, yet, as it belonged to a woman, he could not risk disobeying this uncivil prohibition.

Although he was accustomed to the rude authority which O'Shea assumed whenever he wished to be disagreeable, Caius had only learned to take it with an outward appearance of indifference--his mind within him always chafed; this time the affront to his vanity was worse because he believed that Madame Le Maitre had prompted, or certainly permitted, the insult.

It did not soothe him to think that, with a woman's nervousness, she might have more regard for his safety than that of the horse.

The brightness died out of the beautiful day, and in a lofty mood of ill-used indifference he assured himself that a gentleman could take little interest in such barbarous sport as seal-hunting.

At any rate, it would go on for many a day.