“I would trust my hand between HIS teeth,” she answered, as she thrust her fingers into his great mouth. The rascal mouthed them, and fawned upon her and looked up in her face.
“Ah, he’s kissing it—to congratulate you on having made peace,” I said drily; and she drew her hand away so heartily that for a moment I feared I had offended her. But I had not.
“Does HE understand what you call ‘bluff’?” was her next question, after a pause.
“He’s very much like me in many ways.”
“I can believe that. He is so silent about himself.”
“Like us both in that, perhaps, isn’t he?”
“Is that a reproach or a question?” she retorted, and added, seriously, “I cannot tell you about myself; but you shall know some day.”
“I am not asking. We’ll leave it unsaid on both sides, shall we—at any rate for the present—and just take each other on trust?”
“As you will. I have learnt my lesson and shall not question you.” The reply was given with a mixture of irony, rebellion, and assumed submissiveness in manner and tone.
“I am glad to find you so ready a pupil. Chris there could tell you that where there’s a toughish job to handle he finds it best to let me go my own way.” We had reached the cottage, and she was entering the door as I said this. She turned quickly, and threw up her head.