‘Quite.’ The answer came defiantly; there was something in his questioner’s tone which was militant and aggressive. Before speaking further Harold pulled up the horse. They were now crossing bare moorland, where anything within a mile could have easily been seen. They were quite alone, and would be undisturbed. Then he turned to his companion.
‘You talked a good deal in your drunken sleep—if sleep it was. You appeared to be awake!’ Leonard answered:
‘I don’t remember anything of it. What did I say?’
‘I am going to tell you. You said something so strange and so wrong that you must answer for it. But first I must know its truth.’
‘Must! You are pretty dictatorial,’ said Leonard angrily. ‘Must answer for it! What do you mean?’
‘Were you on Caester Hill to-day?’
‘What’s that to you?’ There was no mistaking the defiant, quarrelsome intent.
‘Answer me! were you?’ Harold’s voice was strong and calm.
‘What if I was? It is none of your affair. Did I say anything in what you have politely called my drunken sleep?’
‘You did.’