Something in Peter’s face seemed to reassure the girl, for though she looked down after the glance, she ceased leaning against the horse, and said, “I behaved very foolishly, of course. Now I will do whatever you think best.”
Before Peter had recovered enough from his thrill to put what he thought into speech, a policeman came riding towards them, leading the roan mare. “Any harm done?” he called.
“None, fortunately. Where can we get a cab? Or can you bring one here?”
“I’m afraid there’ll be none nearer than Fifty-ninth Street. They leave the other entrances before it’s as dark as this.”
“Never mind the cab,” said the girl. “If you’ll help me to mount, I’ll ride home.”
“That’s the pluck!” said the policeman.
“Do you think you had better?” asked Peter.
“Yes. I’m not a bit afraid. If you’ll just tighten the girth.”
It seemed to Peter he had never encountered such a marvellously fascinating combination as was indicated by the clinging position of a minute ago and the erect one of the present moment. He tightened the girth with a pull that made the roan mare wonder if a steam-winch had hold of the end, and then had the pleasure of the little foot being placed in his hand for a moment, as he lifted the girl into the saddle.
“I shall ride with you,” he said, mounting instantly.