“Spoken like a woman!” he retorted. “Always tragic over little things and flippant over big ones.”
That brought the color up into her face. But she was not subdued; for the cat in woman also has nine lives––at least.
“There’s my horse,” she said, with a toss of her head. “You saw him.”
“True! But cow ponies don’t easily jump four-wire fences.”
“Why should they when the fences are down?”
“Good! We arrive by the devious ways that women love. Perhaps you’ll give me the answer now that you should have given in the first place. How did you get in here?”
She bit her lip, reflected a moment, and attempted a flank movement.
“My name is Marion Gaylord.”
“I knew that.”