"As if I'd been a sheep."
"Oh!" Laughter bubbled in her. "You did look rather like one. I was occupied in thinking deeply, seriously, intently—"
"That's no excuse."
"My good George, I shouldn't think of excusing myself to you. I chose to ignore you and I shall probably ignore you again."
"Two can play at that game."
"Well, dear me, I shan't mind."
He bent in the saddle, and she did not like the polished whiteness of his eyeballs. His voice was very low and heavy. "You think you can go on making a mock of me for ever."
She started back. "No, George, no."
"You do, by God!" He lifted his whip to shake it in the face of heaven.
"Oh, don't, George, please! I can't stay"—she crept nearer—"if you go on like that. What have I done? It's you who treat me badly. Won't you be nice? Tell me about something." She put her face against the horse's neck. "Tell me about riding. It must be beautiful in the dark. Isn't it dangerous? Dare you gallop?"