“That’s so,” he said.
They had reached the crest of the Corbury road, and between the indistinct white glimmer of the church and the black curtain of the Varnum spruces the slope stretched away below them without a sled on its length. Some erratic impulse prompted Ethan to say: “How’d you like me to take you down now?”
She forced a laugh. “Why, there isn’t time!”
“There’s all the time we want. Come along!” His one desire now was to postpone the moment of turning the sorrel toward the Flats.
“But the girl,” she faltered. “The girl’ll be waiting at the station.”
“Well, let her wait. You’d have to if she didn’t. Come!”
The note of authority in his voice seemed to subdue her, and when he had jumped from the sleigh she let him help her out, saying only, with a vague feint of reluctance: “But there isn’t a sled round anywheres.”
“Yes, there is! Right over there under the spruces.” He threw the bearskin over the sorrel, who stood passively by the roadside, hanging a meditative head. Then he caught Mattie’s hand and drew her after him toward the sled.
She seated herself obediently and he took his place behind her, so close that her hair brushed his face. “All right, Matt?” he called out, as if the width of the road had been between them.
She turned her head to say: “It’s dreadfully dark. Are you sure you can see?”