“Smoke a little, or I am afraid you will cry.”
She obeyed with unexpected docility, but in a moment crushed the coal of her cigarette on a damp tree stump. Then she turned to him and folded her arms.
“I am not going to leave,” she said evenly. “What are you going to do about it?”
“How did you get here?”
“On my horse.”
“Where is he?”
“Tethered off the road.”
“Very well; if you are not on that horse in five minutes, I shall carry you to it, and what is more, I shall kiss you.”
She deliberately moved into the light and pushed her cap to the back of her head, disarranging a mass of curling dark hair. Her coloring was indefinable in the red light, but her eyes were large and long, and heavily lashed. They sparkled wickedly. The nostrils of her finely cut nose were dilating; her short upper lip was lifted. Clive ardently hoped that she would continue to defy him. Her whole attitude was that of a young worldling, delighting in an unforeseen adventure.
“Who are you, anyhow?” she demanded. “Of course I could see at once that you were a gentleman, or I should not have taken the slightest notice of you.”