“Miss Burrage, may I have a word with you?”
The young fellow with Inza thrust his horse almost against the animal Frank bestrode.
“Insolent fellow!” he said, through his teeth. “Permit us to pass.”
The blood surged into Frank’s face, but he held himself well in check, his voice being hard and icy as he spoke.
“I did not address you, sir.”
“But I addressed you!”
The stranger forced his horse yet nearer, trying to drive Frank aside, his proud face growing dark with passion.
Frank held his ground.
“Miss Burrage,” he said, with the greatest politeness, “I do not think you will refuse me an explanation. It seems to be due me.”
She gave him one cutting, killing look with her dark eyes, and then haughtily turned away once more, her red lips curling with scorn. This added to Frank’s bewilderment and wonder, and it cut him like a sword thrust.