“I meant it,” she said suddenly, in a tone there was no mistaking.
All his jokes deserted him, and left him trembling a little. Indeed he was scandalized, too, being less advanced, probably, in his ideas than she. “It’s—it’s impossible!” he stammered at last.
“Why?” she asked calmly.
He could not give the real reason, of course. “To take the trail, you! To ride all day and sleep on the hard ground! And the river trip, an unknown river with Heaven knows what rapids and other difficulties! A fragile little thing like you!”
Opposition stimulated her. “What you call my fragility is more apparent than real,” she said with spirit. “As a matter of fact I have more endurance than most big women. I have less to carry. I am accustomed to living and travelling in the open. I can ride all day—or walk if need be.”
“It’s impossible!” he repeated. It was the policeman who spoke. The man’s blood was leaping, and his imagination painting the most alluring pictures. How often on his lonely journeys had he not dreamed of the wild delights of such companionship!
“What is your real reason?” she asked.
“Well, how could you go—with me, you know?” he said, blushing into the dusk.
“I’m not afraid,” she answered instantly. “Anyway, that’s my look-out, isn’t it?”
“No,” he said, “I have to think of it. The responsibility would be mine.” Here the man broke through—“Oh, I talk like a prig!” he cried. “But don’t you see, I’m not up here on my own. I can’t do what I would like. A policeman has got to be proper, hasn’t he?”