“At all events, if we were not intimate, you couldn’t possibly say the things you do,” observed Brook, already pacified.
“And I suppose you would not take the things I say, so meekly, would you?”
“I told you I was a very mild person,” said Johnstone. “We were talking about it yesterday, do you remember?”
“Oh yes! And then you illustrated your idea of meekness by knocking down the first man we met.”
“It was your fault,” retorted Brook. “You told me to stop his beating the mule. So I did. Fortunately you stopped him from sticking a knife into me. Do you know? You have awfully good nerves. Most women would have screamed and run up a tree—or something. They would have got out of the way, at all events.”
“I think most women would have done precisely what I did,” said Clare. “Why should you say that most women are cowards?”
“I didn’t,” answered Brook. “But I refuse to quarrel about it. I meant to say that I admired you—I mean, what you did—well, more than anything.”
“That’s a sweeping sort of compliment. Am I to return it?” She glanced at him and smiled.
“You couldn’t, with truth.”
“Of course I could. I don’t remember ever seeing anything of that sort before, but I don’t believe that anybody could have done it better. I admired you more than anything just then, you know.” She laughed once more as she added the last words.