Kathleen herself had not uttered a word, nor had she grasped the seat rail, even when in danger of collision. Now she sat upright, an angry color in her cheeks, her mouth set in a straight line, and the whip still in her hand. She met Angus' eyes with a defiant stare.
"Well?" she said.
"I didn't say anything."
"You're thinking a lot, though."
"Am I?"
"Yes, you are! And don't you say a word of it to me. I can't stand it."
"I am not going to say anything," Angus told her, and stared ahead over the colts' ears, in which companionable fashion they drove for nearly two miles. Then he felt her hand on his arm.
"I'm sorry, Angus. I was utterly rude. Let it go, won't you?"
"Of course," he assented. "I wasn't any too polite myself. The team nearly got away from me."
"And then you think I shouldn't have taken the whip to Blake."