“O Betty!” he cried, and caught her hand.
“O Dan!” she laughed, and drew her hand away.
“You deserve to be whipped,” he went on sternly. “How dare you play with the green-eyed monster I'm wearing on my sleeve? Haven't you heard his growls, madam?”
“He's a pretty monster,” said Betty. “I should like to pat him.”
“Oh, he needs to be gently stroked, I tell you.”
“Does he wake often—poor monster?”
Dan lowered his abashed eyes to the road.
“Well, that—ah, that depends—” he began awkwardly.
“Ah, that depends upon your fancies,” finished Betty, and rode on rapidly.
It was a moment before he came up with her, and when he did so his face was flushed.