"In the West, mostly."
"You are English?"
"No, Madam." He wondered how much she had heard at the police-court that morning. "I am American born."
"Are you addicted to the use of intoxicants?"—mentally noting the clearness of the whites of his eyes.
The barest flicker of a smile stirred his lips.
"No, Madam. I had not been drinking last night—that is, not in the sense the officers declared I had. It is true that I take a drink once in a while, when I have been riding or driving all day, or when I am cold. I have absolutely no appetite."
She brushed her cheeks with the poppies, and for a brief second the flowers threw a most beautiful color over her face and neck.
"What was your object in climbing on the box of my carriage and running away with it?"
Quick as a flash of light he conceived his answer. "Madam, it was a jest between me and some maids." He had almost said serving-maids, but the thought of Nancy checked this libel.
"Between you and some maids?"—faintly contemptuous. "Explain, for I believe an explanation is due me."