Here I saved a dog's life and passed two wagons before their drivers had had time to inspire the horses with the terror they felt themselves. Then:
"All found's all right, if you know your man," said I.
"But I don't."
I caught her laughing eyes in the windscreen, and straightway drank to them from an imaginary wine-glass. She smiled gently, and the eyes looked away with the look that sees at once not at all and yet farthest. She was gazing down the vista of memory.
"Then it's a compact," I said quietly. "Sealed with a drink."
"I never drank to you this time, Norval."
"Yes, you did," said I. "Only with thine eyes, doll beautiful."
"You forget yourself."
"I remember you. You were wearing a black and gold dress. Sweet you looked."
She turned away and pointed to a church we were leaving on our right.