My lord dropped his eye-glass.
"What the devil do you mean—'No, sir'?"
"I ask your pardon, sir, an I presume, but I can't and won't let ye ride alone with your wound but just healed." There was not a hint of defiance or impertinence in the quiet voice, but it held a great determination.
"You won't, eh? Do you imagine I am a child?"
"No, sir."
"Or unable to take care of myself?"
"I think ye are weaker than ye know, sir."
"Oh, you do, do you?"
Jim came up to him.
"Ye'll let me ride with ye, sir? I won't trouble ye, and I can ride behind, but I can't let ye go alone. Ye might faint—sir—"