"You are going to ride," Angus told her with finality, "and that is all there is to it."
"I'm not used to being thrown about like a sack of oats!" she flashed, and would have dismounted, but he stopped her. "How dare you!" she cried. "Let me down! Take your hands off me, Angus Mackay!"
"Then behave sensibly!" said Angus.
"Sensibly! My heavens! do you think I'm a child?"
"A child would be glad to ride."
"Do you think you can make me do things merely because you're stronger?"
"Yes," Angus told her flatly, "some things. This, for one."
"Admitting that—you're brutal!"
"And admitting that," Angus returned, "will you act like a sensible girl?"
For a moment she frowned at him, her eyes stormy, dark with anger. And then, slowly, she bent low over the saddle horn, and turned her face away, while a sob shook her slight figure. At which awful spectacle Angus' resolution suddenly melted to contrition.