"Let's canter," said Moya. The blood came rushing to his face.
"I apologise," he cried. "It was horrid cheek of me, I know!"
Moya's reassuring smile was all kindly, and not all forced; indeed, the tears were very close to the surface, and she could not trust herself to say much.
"Not cheek at all," was what she did say, with vigour. "Only—you'll change your mind."
With that her eyes glistened for an instant; and young Ives loved her himself. But neither of them was sorry when another gate grew large above the horses' ears, with posts and wires dwindling into perspective on either side to mark the eastern frontier of Big Bushy.
VIII
THE KIND OF LIFE
"Now what do we do, Mr. Ives?"