not you. They’re as different as they welly can be, Gerald Crich and his father — two different men, different made.’

Then there was a pause.

‘But why does he do it?’ cried Ursula, ‘why does he? Does he think he’s grand, when he’s bullied a sensitive creature, ten times as sensitive as himself?’

Again there was a cautious pause. Then again the man shook his head, as if he would say nothing, but would think the more.

‘I expect he’s got to train the mare to stand to anything,’ he replied. ‘A pure-bred Harab — not the sort of breed as is used to round here — different sort from our sort altogether. They say as he got her from Constantinople.’