"Oh, aye," says I to myself, "buxom young trollops well made for vigorous riding and saddle work!"

"Before you proceed to deal with our young ladies," went on Miss M., "you must first prove yourself with these saucy Amazons. That was always your uncle's rule."

"Was it, by Jove!" I said. "Then I shall strive to be worthy of it!"

To speak well of Uncle Brandon is to win Miss M.'s heart. Do you suppose, my sweet, that she had such a lech for the old fellow as to supply him with young fillies to ride at Greystones?

"I shall put two young women in your charge at first-Maggie and Noreen," said she. "They need nothing less than a man's absolute authority. For that reason, your dear departed uncle wished you to aid our good works."

I smiled at the old fellow's singular notion of good works. A moment more and we entered the main stable door, viewing a well-kept interior of red tiling, white-painted rails, and neatly piled straw. Miss Martinet pointed out Maggie and Noreen to me, marking the beginning of my remarkable acquaintance with them.

I will not burden you with more than the briefest description of the two girls. Maggie was to prove a casual and careless young slut compared with the staring insolence of Noreen. What shall I say of Maggie? Her golden-blond hair hung straight and loose to her shoulders and was parted on her forehead in a long fringe. She was twenty-three years old, I learnt, the pale oval of her face marked by features which were firm and perhaps a little crude. Yet you would admire her blue-green eyes and the lashes which she darkens so skilfully. Maggie is a bewitching combination of the brazen slut and the innocent child. She is firmly built, though not tall. Her lack of height gives her a coltish, almost stocky appearance. Yet her thighs are taut and her hips firmly covered without being fat. Her breasts are softly hung and Maggie's bottom-cheeks have the trim maturity of womanhood. Though she wears no wedding ring, I'll wager that Maggie's cunt has been well ridden.