"Love me, love my horse!"
The quotation seemed careless. Sheila's face told Clyde nothing.
"'Like master, like horse' is more appropriate," said Sheila.
"Oh, I'm not an outlaw—yet," he said, with just the slightest pause before the word.
Slight though it was, Clyde noticed it; noticed, too, the instant shadow on Sheila's face, the quick contraction of her dark brows, the momentary silence, transient but utter. It was as if the chill and gloom of night had suddenly struck the summer's noonday.
But in a moment the conversation was resumed, and became general. Sandy McCrae joined them, silent as usual, but evidently attracted by Clyde. Presently Sheila took Casey to diagnose the case of a favourite, sick collie.
"My heavens, Casey, did you see the kid?" she asked. "I never knew him to look twice at a girl before."
"Every boy has to start some time," he laughed. "She's well worth looking at."
"That's so. Yes, she's very pretty, Casey."
"I'm glad you like her."