“Tut! What did he say? Tell me—I really want to know!” and she tapped her foot on the carpet.
“A great many things; among them that—that he was surprised and—and bewildered—by—er—er—the brilliancy of the horse-shoe. By the by, would you like a mate for it?” and he caught her by the wrist as she held up her hand, lapping some wine from its rosy hollow.
“Be careful, or you’ll spill it! There!” and she threw it in his face, laughing, though her eyes flashed.
He put his handkerchief up, removed it and looked a trifle angry; then he walked over to where she stood, and, catching her by both hands, imprisoned them behind her and kissed her on the mouth.
“That’s all you’ll ever get,” she hissed through her teeth.
“That’s all I want!” and he released her.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Ask Emory, when you are ready for a pair of diamond horse-shoes,” and he took up his hat.
“You may tell him that when Cliquot wins I’ll be ready; and you may give him my love, and say anything else you choose quite safely, for I am sure his horse will never reach the goal.”
She didn’t look at all amiable as she walked to the window, where she caught hold of the tassel of the shade, running it up and down in a restless way, with her back to her companion.