"I should drive them into a ditch, or they would run away with me," she says, smiling.
"Not a bit of it," he retorts; "and I know you are not afraid, because you said last night that you never were afraid."
"Did I say that?" she says. "What wonderful things one says in the moonlight!"
"See here," he says. "I'll show you how to hold the reins."
"If I am not afraid, they will be, if they think you are going to transfer these wild animals to my guidance," and she glances over her shoulder.
"Oh, they're all right," he says, carelessly. "Give me your hand. No, the left one. That's it."
He takes it and opens the slim fingers, and inserts the reins in their proper places; and as he does so notices, if he did not notice last night, how beautifully shaped and refined the small hand is.
"That's right. Now take the whip in your right hand, and—how do you feel?"
"As if I were chained to two romping lions, and they were dragging me off the box."