"Do you know," she laughingly remarked, "you are not very interesting?"
He started. "Interesting!"
"A penny for your thoughts!" ironically.
"They're not worth it."
"No?"
He bent a little nearer; she swept back the disordered lock; an instant the man seemed to lose his self-possession. "Ah," he began, as if the words forced themselves from his lips, "if only I might--"
What he had been on the point of saying was never finished; the girl's quick glance, sweeping an instant ahead, had lingered on some one approaching from the opposite direction, and catching sight of him, she had just missed noting that swift alteration in John Steele's tones, the brief abandonment of studied control, a flare of irresistible feeling.
"Isn't that Lord Ronsdale?" asked the girl, continuing to gaze before her.
A black look replaced the sudden flame in Steele's gaze; the hand holding the reins closed on them tightly.
"Rather early for him, I fancy," she said, regarding the slim figure of the approaching rider. "With his devotion to clubs and late hours, you know! Do you, Mr. Steele, happen to belong to any of his clubs?"