"What is it?" he said. "Is it the mare?"
She hesitated. "Perhaps, in part."
"And the other part?" He leaned forward, looking at her keenly. "Are you afraid of me, Anne?" he said.
His voice was free from reproach, yet her heart smote her. She reminded herself of how he had once pleaded with her for her trust.
"I'm sorry I pressed the mare," he said, "but it was quite as much her fault as mine. Moreover, the cub exaggerated. I will fetch him in and make him own it if you like."
She stayed him with a gesture. "No, don't, please! I think Bertie was probably in the right."
"Do you, though?" Nap leaned back again, regarding her with supercilious attention. "It's rather—daring of you to say so."
"Do you really think I stand in awe of you?" she said.
"You are such a truly remarkable woman," he made answer, "that I scarcely know what to think. But since you are not afraid of me—apparently, perhaps I may venture to come to the point. Do you know I have been laying plans for a surprise picnic for you and—one other? It's such a gorgeous day. Don't refuse!"
The boyish note she liked to hear sounded suddenly in his voice. He discarded his cynicism and leaned towards her again, eager, persuasive.