She was turning these things wearily over in her mind when the quick whir of wheels sounded at her back. She stepped aside to allow the vehicle to pass, without raising her eyes.
A harsh, domineering voice, the sort of voice to be slavishly obeyed, ordered the horse to stand still.
She looked up quickly to meet the eager gaze of the man who was in her thoughts. A vivid color, of which she was angrily conscious, rose to her forehead. She stammered some sort of greeting, her eyes drooping before the dominant insistence in his.
“I was just on my way to your house,” he said.
His voice, as well as his eyes, was eager, insistent.
“Get in, won’t you, and ride with me? I have something to say to you.”
The girl hesitated, her cheeks paling. He sprang to the ground, speaking sharply to his young, restive horse.
“Allow me to assist you,” he said, with a politeness wholly unfamiliar to Barbara.
She gave him an astonished look, which he interpreted correctly, with the acumen of a trained politician.