She laughed, gayly.
“We are coming on!” she exclaimed. “This pace is getting rather brisk—did you notice it, Mr. Macloud?”
“You’re in a fast class, Miss Carrington.”
She glanced up quickly.
“Now don’t misunderstand me——”
“You were speaking in the language of the race track, I presume.”
“I was—you understand?”
“A Southern girl usually loves—horses,” with a tantalizing smile.
“It is well for you this is a public street,” he said.
“Why?” she asked, with assumed innocence.