“Do you mind about my fancies, Betty?” he asked humbly.
“I?” said Betty, disdainfully. “Why, what have I to do with them?”
“With my fancies? nothing—so help me God—nothing.”
“I am glad to hear it,” she replied quietly, stroking her horse. Her cheeks were glowing and she let the overhanging branches screen her face. As they rode on silently they heard the rustling of the leaves beneath the horses' feet, and the soft wind playing through the forest. A chain of lights and shadows ran before them into the misty purple of the distance, where the dim trees went up like gothic spires.
Betty's hands were trembling, but fearing the stillness, she spoke in a careless voice.
“When do you go back to college?” she inquired politely.
“In two days—but it's all the same to you, I dare say.”
“Indeed it isn't. I shall be very sorry.”
“You needn't lie to me,” he returned irritably. “I beg your pardon, but a lie is a lie, you know.”
“So I suppose, but I wasn't lying—I shall be very sorry.”