"You don't mean to say you're going out this torrid day?" he demanded, lifting his head from the tin bucket in which he had submerged it as she voiced her request, and eyeing her black linen habit with disfavor.
"It's no hotter on the highroad than in the hayfield."
"Very true; but I have to go, and you don't. Being one of the favored few of this earth, there's no reason why you shouldn't sit on a shady porch all day, dressed in cool, pale-green muslin, and sipping iced drinks."
"Did you ever see me in a green muslin? I'll saddle Dolly myself, if you don't feel like it."
She spoke very quietly, but the immediate consciousness of his stupid break did not improve Austin's bad temper.
"Oh, I'll saddle for you, but the heat aside, I think you ought to understand that it isn't best for a woman to ride about on these lonely roads by herself. It was different a few years ago; but now, with all these Italian and Portuguese laborers around, it's a different story. I think you'd better stay at home."
The unwarranted and dictatorial tone of the last sentence spoiled the speech, which might otherwise, in spite of the surly manner in which it was uttered, have passed for an expression of solicitude. Sylvia, who was as headstrong as she was amiable, gathered up her reins quickly.
"By what right do you consider yourself in a position to dictate to me?" she demanded.
"By none at all; but it's only decent to tell you the risk you're running; now if you come to grief, I certainly shan't feel sorry."
"From your usual behavior, I shouldn't have supposed you would, anyway.
Good-bye, Austin."