“You remember?” he rejoined.
“Yes.”
Her face and eyes looked very arch and saucy as she continued:
“I suppose you take me for an escaped lunatic?”
“Oh, no,” with a provoking smile on the handsome lips, “only a very giddy girl whose memory was temporarily obscured by her fall.”
“And you don’t like giddy girls?” Molly interrogated, with a decisive pout.
“Not—usually,” he returned with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes.
Molly sprang to her feet with considerable agility, considering that she had declared she felt as if all her bones were broken.
“Neither do I like hateful prigs!” she returned, with asperity. “So I will bid you good-evening, sir.”
Dropping him a pert little courtesy, she ran toward the horse, but as she lifted her little foot to the stirrup she found him at her elbow.