“Alice, did you hear me?” leaning towards her and placing his hand on her horse’s crest.
“Yes, I heard you. You are not my father confessor, be pleased to remember,” she replied, closing her lips resolutely. She felt an insane desire to tease him, and proceeded: “Perhaps, if you tell me two or three things, I will tell you.”
“Go on, then. What do you wish to know?”
“In the first place, am I as pretty as I was as Alice Saville?”
“Really—I—I have never given the subject a thought.” (Oh Reginald!)
“Well; go on. I’m waiting.”
“Yes”—looking at her boldly and taking in every item of her fair high-bred face, mischievous smile, and lovely laughing eyes—“I suppose you are.”
What a rude, indefinite way of putting it!
“Is my riding as good as ever?”
“Yes,” most emphatically.