She threw out a deprecating little gesture. “Do I need to put on more humility?” she questioned, humbly. “Is it respect that I have failed in, sir?”
“Oh, bosh!” he interposed, rudely. “I want to know why you went riding three afternoons with Champe—it wasn't fair of you, you know.”
Betty sighed sadly. “No one has ever asked me before why I went riding with Champe,” she confessed, “and the mighty secret has quite gnawed into my heart.”
“Share it with me,” begged Dan, gallantly, “only I warn you that I shall have no mercy upon Champe.”
“Poor Champe,” said Betty.
“At least he went riding with you three afternoons—lucky Champe!”
“Ah, so he did; and must I tell you why?”
He nodded. “You shan't go home until you do,” he declared grimly.
Betty reached up and plucked a handful of aspen leaves, scattering them upon the road.
“By what right, O horse-taming Hector (isn't that the way they talk in Homer?)”