“That’s right,” said Farquhar, releasing her. “I’ve been wanting to speak to you this month past. Why have you kept out of my way?”
“For the same reason that I’m speaking to you now: because I chose to.”
“Because you chose to—Dolly, I swear I never saw a woman to compare with you for beauty! Why don’t you ride? On horseback you’d be a queen.”
“I used to, but my horse got staked and had to be shot.”
“Were you on him?”
“I was; afterwards he was on me.”
“My God! I’m glad I didn’t see it.”
“I was not hurt; and why should it affect you if I had been?”
“Anything affects me that has to do with you. I’m in love with you; you know it.”
“How much?” inquired Dolly. He stood; she still sat on the gate, one foot swinging, and his face, thrown back to look up at her, fronted the sunset. Dolly felt like Fatima turning the little golden key, but she was at present mistress of the situation, and her spirits rose. “How much?” she said again.