"Dear little girl," said Chris remorsefully, "I did neglect you shamefully last night, but that wonderful jumping—you see those jumps represented all the most ingenious obstacles invented by Continental riders, and naturally it's intensely interesting to a man who 'chases—even if he doesn't do it like them, over trick fences. And then the riding," he burst out reminiscently, "such riding as you don't get in a century of good riders, at any rate, all assembled at the same time and place."
"Oh, spare me!" cried Gay, so angrily that his face fell, and she felt a brute as she saw how she had wiped all the brightness out of it.
"Anyway," he said pluckily, "we shall get plenty of hunting, Rensslaer says, and a stiff run is almost as good as a steeplechase. He has a horse that will carry you beautifully."
"I shan't be there," cried Gay, and stamped her foot. "How dare you take it for granted that I shall go where I have not even been asked?"
"Well," said Chris wrathfully, "didn't I ask you at the Ffolliott's dance—didn't I ask you again in this very room after my accident?"
"No, you didn't," said Gay. "It was I who said I'd give up Trotting, if you would racing, and you wouldn't!"
"But it was a perfectly understood thing," said Chris, "that if I dropped steeplechasing, you would marry me, and I have—and what more do you want?"
"Nothing," said Gay point-plank. "While you've been shilly-shallying, I've been making other plans—that's all."
"You have certainly been a little wretch to me," said Chris gravely, "and really, Gay, you must try to control your temper better, if we are going to hit it when we're married."
Gay gasped and sat down; so did Chris, though he kissed her first before she knew it—how fearfully quick he was in everything—but Carlton could be quick too.... She put her handkerchief away; she did not want to rub out that last kiss....