"Ninety-nine to one!" he said coolly. "But, do you know, I rather count on the hundredth chance. I've taken it--and won on it--before now."
He was not to be disconcerted, it was evident. He was plainly a difficult man to rout, one accustomed to keep his head in any emergency. And she--she was but a slip of a girl in his estimation, and he had her at a disadvantage already.
She felt her face begin to burn in the darkness. She shifted her ground. "I don't see why anyone should be made to live against his will," she said, "why it should be anyone's business to interfere."
"That's because you're young," he said. "You haven't yet got the proper hang of things. It only comes with practice--that."
Her face burned more hotly. He was actually patronizing her!
She turned abruptly. "Good evening," she said, and began to walk away.
But he fell in beside her at once. "I'm going your way," he observed. "May as well see you past the bar of 'The Anchor.' They get a bit lively there sometimes at this end of the day."
He walked with the slight roll of a man accustomed to much riding. She imagined that he never appeared in anything but breeches and gaiters. But his tread was firm and purposeful. Quite obviously it never entered his head that she might not desire his company.
For that reason she had to submit to the arrangement though she felt herself grow more and more rigid as they neared the circle of light cast by the street-lamp. Of course he was bound to recognize her now.
But they reached and passed the lamp, and he tramped straight ahead without looking at her, after the square fashion that she had somehow begun to associate with him.