Her scrutiny was well returned. Out of the purity of a lonely spirit longing for some companionship her clear eyes had looked full into his, the ending of a day of weakness and tears and silent waiting. And under the deep scrutiny of those stronger eyes she had not power to look aside till every little secret not worth hiding had been read. Then having got rid of all the weakness, Rosalie came to the reserve strength.
She drew her hand out of his, and asked suddenly, with an everyday interest:
“Have you any horses of your own, Mr. Barringcourt, or do you hire them all?”
“I have my own; but they’re too good for everyday work.”
“But when do you exercise them?”
“Occasionally at midnight I give them a run round. They are black, so they don’t show. Nor do they advertise their coming by too much noise.”
This time she looked at him with puzzled incredulity.
“What do you mean?”
“What I say. Why are you waiting here?”
“To see the sun set.”