"Are you hurt?" cried Shelton breathlessly, and he, too, grabbed the bridle. "Those beastly cars!""I don't know," she said. "Please don't; he won't let strangers touch him."Shelton let go, and watched her coax the horse. She was rather tall, dressed in a grey habit, with a grey Russian cap upon her head, and he suddenly recognised the Mrs. Foliot whom they had been talking of at lunch.
"He 'll be quiet now," she said, "if you would n't mind holding him a minute."She gave the reins to him, and leaned against the gate. She was very pale.
"I do hope he has n't hurt you," Shelton said. He was quite close to her, well able to see her face--a curious face with high cheek-bones and a flatfish moulding, enigmatic, yet strangely passionate for all its listless pallor. Her smiling, tightened lips were pallid;pallid, too, her grey and deep-set eyes with greenish tints; above all, pale the ashy mass of hair coiled under her grey cap.
"Th-thanks!" she said; "I shall be all right directly. I'm sorry to have made a fuss."She bit her lips and smiled.
"I 'm sure you're hurt; do let me go for---" stammered Shelton.
"I can easily get help."
"Help!" she said, with a stony little laugh; "oh, no, thanks!"She left the gate, and crossed the road to where he held the horse.
Shelton, to conceal embarrassment, looked at the horse's legs, and noticed that the grey was resting one of them. He ran his hand down.
"I 'm afraid," he said, "your horse has knocked his off knee; it's swelling."She smiled again.
"Then we're both cripples."
"He'll be lame when he gets cold. Would n't you like to put him in the stable here? I 'm sure you ought to drive home.""No, thanks; if I 'm able to ride him he can carry me. Give me a hand up."Her voice sounded as though something had offended her. Rising from inspection of the horse's leg, Shelton saw Antonia and Toddles standing by. They had come through a wicketgate leading from the fields.