"By Christmas! It's a settled thing?" she said, holding up her forefinger with an odd, warning, alert gesture.
"It's a settled thing," he replied.
"Splendid!" she answered. "I believe you'll keep your word."
"You'll see I shall."
She rose. The horses, quieted down, were caught and saddled and brought round. She glanced from her blue-grey mare to his red stallion, and gave her odd, squirrel-like chuckle.
"What a contretemps," she said. "It's like the sun mating with the moon." She gave him a quick, bright, odd glance: some of the coolness of a fairy.
"Is it!" he exclaimed, as he lifted her into the saddle. She was slim and light, with an odd, remote reserve.
He mounted his horse.
"We go different ways for the moment," she said.
"Till Christmas," he answered. "Then the moon will come to the sun, eh? Bring the mare with you. Shell probably be in foal."