Once well out of sight of the place, she seated herself on a bank at the side of the road, and laid the three limp little forms on a warm, flat, sunny rock. Then she tried to coax them back to life and their normal state of bright friskiness.
As she sat rubbing, with a gentle forefinger, their soft, panting throats, crooning over them with pitying words, too intent on her task to notice what was going on around her, a deep voice said with an unexpectedness that made her jump:
"They'll do exactly the same with the next lizards they catch."
She looked round quickly.
In the middle of the road, mounted on a huge black horse, was the man whose life she had saved.
Pansy's gaze rested on him for a moment before she replied. He made such a picture on the black horse, with his strong, sunburnt face and well-cut khaki riding suit; the most perfect combination of horse and man she had ever seen.
"I know they will," she said. "But still, I've done my best for these three."
"Do you always try to do your best for everything that comes your way, Pansy?" he asked tenderly.
"Only a few privileged people are allowed to call me 'Pansy,'" she said tartly.
"What else can I call you, since you refuse to tell me your name?"