Esmeralda smiled.
“I am nearly always happy,” she said.
“Yes, I think you are,” he assented in a low voice; and her innocence smote him with a feeling of guilt and shame—it was as if he were deceiving a child.
They had turned down a hill, and were approaching West Wickham. The horses were going at a rattling pace; but he noticed, with an admiration that he could not withhold, that she kept them in hand firmly and with perfect ease.
“You drive well,” he said. “You must be very strong.”
His praise brought the light to her eyes.
“I am strong,” she said. “But they are not hard to drive. I have ridden and driven young colts that get up on their hind legs and waltz all round the place; these are quite tame. But they are good horses,” conscientiously. “I’ve never driven a pair so handsome as this.”
“You shall drive as many as you like,” he said. “I’ll get you a pair.”
“No, don’t,” she said; “or, if you do, you must let me pay for them. I’m very rich, you know.” She laughed easily.
He bit his lip, and looked at her. Did she know how poor he was? But a glance at her face showed him that she spoke quite innocently.