“Why? Would you rather be lying in the pasture?”
She was angered afresh by the knowledge that she owed her life to him, by the tolerant wonder in his face, as if he had a child’s absurdities to answer.
“Yes. I would rather be lying there.”
She faced him with frank enmity, and was silent for awhile.
“Have your Logie Women no nice sense of honour?” she went on. “Are they not taught that the least breath on it is worse than death?”
“They are,” said the Master, stung into defence of his own—“and with it they’re taught common-sense. Logie thinks none the worse of two folk because a blizzard keeps them safe indoors.”
“If you had been a Hielandman, and I’d said to him half of what I’ve said to you——”
“Well?”
“He’d have been fighting the drifts outside by now.”
The challenge was direct—out-facing if he did not take it up—and Hardcastle glanced at Storm, asleep still between them. The dog would be a sure guardian for her, if he failed. It was likely he would fail; but there was just a chance that he could win through to some other shelter.