Horace was trembling from head to foot. He could hardly reply.
“Why, you are shivering,” said Rose. “Are you cold?”
“No—well, perhaps yes, a little. It is rather cool to-night after the hot day.”
“Where have you been?”
“I walked to Tunbury and back.”
“That is seven miles. That ought to have warmed you. Well, I think we must go in. I don't know what Aunt Sylvia would say.”
“Why should she mind?”
“I don't know. She might not think I should have run out here as I did. I think all these jewels went to my head. Come. Please walk very softly.”
Horace hesitated.
“Come,” repeated Rose, imperatively, and started.