"Oh, have you? I don't think I quite understand how you got any such right. And you like to be questioned yourself?"
She had him there, had him rather cruelly, though he was not aware of the weapon of her suspicion. She felt a little ashamed when she saw him wince. He slapped his gloves against his leather chaps, looking at her with hot, sulky eyes.
"Oh, well… I beg your pardon…. Listen—" He flung his ill-humor aside and was sweet and cool again like the night. "Are you going to take the little horse?"
"I don't know."
His face shadowed and fell so expressively, so utterly, that she melted.
"Oh," he stammered, half-turning from her, "I was sure. I brought him up."
This completed the melting process. "Of course I'll take him!" she cried.
"Where is he?"
She inspected the beautiful little animal by the moonlight. She even let Hilliard mount her on the shining glossy back and rode slowly about clinging to his mane, ecstatic over the rippling movement under her.
"He's like a rocking-chair," said Cosme. "You can ride him all day and not feel it." He looked about the silver meadow. "Good feed here, isn't there? I bet he'll stay. If not, I'll get him for you."
Sheila slipped down. They left the horse to graze.