“Aren’t we friends enough not to have to please each other?” she quickly interposed. She wanted so to keep him off that dangerous ground.
“You people have such a way with words!” he protested, with a head-shake as large and impatient as a bull’s.
“We people?” she demanded with gay asperity.
“Oh, all that crowd!” He jerked his head backward, in the direction of the party following.
“And you insist on classing me?” she persisted.
“You know,” he replied obstinately, “as far as I’m concerned, you’re in a class by yourself. I’ve told you all about that before.” As they began the descent his hands tightened on the reins.
She looked seaward over the low live-oaks.
“You can’t for a moment suppose,” he went on, “that I class you with them. You know their sort. You know how to meet them; but I believe at bottom you’re more like me.”
“That may be, too,” she said gently; “but—”
“Do you know, that’s the way you always answer me!” he struck in. “You won’t put a definite period to a sentence.”