“Thank you.” He greeted her formally when he had relieved her of the cup. “You are riding?” he said.
“Yes. We always ride on the veld.” She beat her skirt softly with the whip, and looked up at him with a faint smile. “You are early. I hope you slept well?”
“I scarcely slept at all,” he answered. “I was thinking... You set me thinking. I believe you intended that.”
Without denying this, she answered, looking away from him:
“At least I did not wish to spoil your rest.”
He stood sipping his coffee and regarding her the while. He decided that hers was the most beautiful face he had ever beheld; no pictured face that he could recall surpassed it, and among living faces it was more flawless than any he had seen.
“I’ll make up for that to-night,” he returned. “I don’t believe even an uneasy conscience could rob me of sleep two nights in succession.”
He finished the coffee, and carried the empty cup inside and put it down on the round oak table in the living-room. Honor made no effort to prevent him. She looked after him without moving, and remained silent until he returned and confronted her with an inquiring lift of the brows.
“Suppose I couldn’t ride?” he asked.
She evinced surprise. Not ride! Every man rode.