“My dear girl, do let us be cynical. You haven’t money and you haven’t credit. No one would take you in. It’s one of two things: go back to your stepmother, or—trust to me.”
“How can I?”
“Then you must go back to her.” He paused momentarily, to let this consideration have its proper weight. “Jessie, I did not mean to say the things I did. Upon my honour, I lost my head when I spoke so. If you will, forgive me. I am a man. I could not help myself. Forgive me, and I promise you—”
“How can I trust you?”
“Try me. I can assure you—”
She regarded him distrustfully.
“At any rate, ride on with me now. Surely we have been in the shadow of this horrible bridge long enough.”
“Oh! let me think,” she said, half turning from him and pressing her hand to her brow.
“Think! Look here, Jessie. It is ten o’clock. Shall we call a truce until one?”
She hesitated, demanded a definition of the truce, and at last agreed.