She looked at me steadily. “Me,” she said
I did not trouble about any civilities. I stood up and asked point blank a question that came into my head.
“Whose horse is that?” I said.
She looked me in the eyes. “Carnaby’s,” she answered.
“How did you get here—this way?”
“The wall’s down.”
“Down? Already?”
“A great bit of it between the plantations.”
“And you rode through, and got here by chance?”
“I saw you yesterday. And I rode over to see you.” I had now come close to her, and stood looking up into her face.