But he did not. He scanned the garden and the fields, and seeing the glimmer of her white dress between the bars of the stile, rode up and stood in his stirrups, looking over. Her eyes met his with a laughing glance of defiance.
'Don't speak. Let me anticipate your remark. I know it,' she said.
'You may anticipate anything agreeable.'
'"The grass is dewy, your feet will be wet, Miss Hugo."'
He laughed, glancing down at his horse's head and flicking a fly from its ear, then back at her with a swift sidelong look of admiration. It was lost upon her for she was standing on the stile surveying her shoes.
'They are wet,' she said.
'Of course they are. You must take them off instantly.'
'If you had not come, I should have had a walk by the beck.'
'Well, you are not going to walk now and must take them off.'