“Sure he won’t charge again?” interrupted the young man, evidently wishing to avoid any expression of gratitude on her part.
“I–I am quite certain,” she replied, and then, after thanking him, slowly gathered up the reins. But she did not ride on, for the reason that the other, now absorbed in a cool survey of Pat’s outlines, retained his hold on the bridle. Yet neither the survey nor the grip on the bridle displeased her.
“A splendid horse,” he declared, after a moment. “A beautiful animal!” Then, evidently suddenly mindful that he was detaining her, he stepped back.
Helen again prepared to ride on.
“Pat is a beautiful horse,” she agreed, still a little nervous. “And like all beauty,” she added, “he develops strange moods at times.” Then, her sense of deep gratitude moving her, she asked, “Were you going toward town?”
For reply he swung into the saddle. He wheeled close, and they set out. He appeared a little ill at ease, and Helen took the initiative.
“From the East, I take it?” she inquired. “There are not a few Easterners down here. Some have taken up permanent residence.”
“Yes,” he replied, “I’m from the East–New York.”
She liked his voice.
“We are here for the winter–mother and myself. Mother isn’t strong, and your delightful climate ought to improve her. I myself came along”–he turned twinkling eyes toward her–“as guide and comforter and–I fear–all-round nuisance.” He was silent. “I like this country,” he added, after a moment.