“I’m very sorry; but thirty or forty miles make a long march for a lame horse. I could manage on foot, of course, but——” I left the sentence unfinished.
She started, and bit her lip as she realised my meaning. To avoid seeing her distress, and to fill the pause, I dropped one of the tins I was carrying and stooped to pick it up.
“I have to beg your pardon, Burgwan, for doubting you.”
“That’s no account, I assure you. I couldn’t have helped it myself if the position had been reversed. The truth does sometimes look strangely like falsehood.”
“But you don’t seem to understand that I must get away. I must.”
“I do realise it,” I answered, very earnestly, “and mean to find a way, somehow. I’m not easy to beat, most times.”
“When can we start, then?” I noticed the “we,” and I think it had something to do with putting me off my guard.
“I shall have to think a bit,” I said.
“It must be soon, Burgwan. What time is it now?”
Without thinking, I pulled out my watch from an inner pocket—a big gold chronometer on a gold chain—and the moment I caught her quick eyes on it I saw the mistake, and regretted it.