It was not easy to release the animal which, having encoiled its legs in the rope attached to its staple, was getting more and more frightened as its own efforts lassoed it the tighter. Jinny’s heart beat fast lest Will should get kicked, and still faster at the nonchalance with which he accomplished his dangerous task.
“Thank you,” she said sweetly, when the animal stood shaking, but quiet.
“It’s not your horse.”
“But I asked you to do it.”
“Then you might do what I ask you?” he retorted.
She frowned. She did not like this tricky tit-for-tat. It was unchivalrous. It undid his deed of derring-do.
“You must not interfere with my business,” she said severely, and swept to the nearest door.
“Jinny! Where are you going?” He had followed her.
“To the bar!” she said solemnly, perceiving the nature of the forbidden chamber. “Why can’t I have a drink and a smoke? What will you take?”
He gasped, believing her serious. So female smoking even in public was no impossible foreboding. To this buffet, blockaded by laughing, swilling, tobacco-clouded masculinity, mitigated only—if not indeed aggravated—by a barmaid, Jinny was actually going to wriggle her way! And the buffet did not even sell milk!