Pansy got to her feet.
He helped her to mount. Then he rode at her side up the hill.
"I love the clear heights," she remarked presently.
"I don't know much about them. The miry depths are more in my line," he replied.
Critically she surveyed him.
"You don't look so specially muddy."
"No? What do I look like—to you?" he asked, a caressing note in his voice.
"Very proud, very passionate, very strong, and as if you could be cruel."
"Then I can't look very attractive," he said, smiling slightly.
"Being proud is all right, so long as it makes you too proud to do mean things."