“He may have his own affairs to attend to,” she said. “And we should not keep him from them.”
“Oh, I say now,” protested Herbert, “that is just a trifle unfriendly, Peggy. He is going to ride with us into town.”
“It is just as Mistress Camp desires,” returned George, distantly, and sitting very stiffly in his saddle.
“It was a mere suggestion upon my part,” she said, and her voice was as cold as his own. “I have no great interest either way.”
Her brother brought his horse around until he gained her other side; and from the way the animal reared, it was plain that its rider was angry.
“What in the world ails you to-night, Peg?” he demanded heatedly. “One would think that you had been affronted. We all ride together to town. There is some business to transact.”
To this Peggy made no answer; but George, though he could make her out but dimly, knew that she was riding on with head held high, and he also felt sure that her eyes—if one could but have had a glimpse of them—bore the proud look that he had seen in them more than once before.
When they reached the line of defenses that ran westward from Corlear’s Hook, a voice challenged them out of the darkness. Lieutenant Camp rode forward to answer; and no sooner had he vanished than George felt Peggy’s horse press closer to his side.
“Sir,” she said hurriedly, in a low voice, “I must beg of you not to ride into town with us.”
“I don’t understand,” said the young man.