Margaret removed the sombrero and viewed it in astonishment that speedily gave place to dismay. The colour flooded into her face as she held the hat toward John.
“I didn’t notice,” she said. “I’m very sorry. Will you change with me, please?”
John did so.
“I’m sure you didn’t know,” he answered gravely, taking pity on her confusion and forbearing to utter any one of the numerous gallant things that came into his mind.
“There’s a penalty, isn’t there?” laughed Phillip.
Margaret pretended that she had not heard, and John smiled at her brother ferociously and ranged himself alongside.
“I’ll break your neck if you don’t shut up, Phil!” he muttered pleasantly.
Phillip grinned back. “I wish I could blush the way you can, John,” he whispered.
Later they rode; and John decided that if Margaret was captivating in the simple gowns he had seen her wear she was adorable in her close-fitting black habit. The way in which she managed the unruly Cardinal was marvelous, and John, trotting alongside on his staid mare, Ruby, experienced a vast contempt for his own horsemanship. They went westward, around the “hog-back,” over a broad, well-traveled highway which Phillip explained had been built during the war by the Northern army, past smiling, sunlit fields and comfortable, broad-porched houses. As they swept abreast up a hill Phillip reined in and listened intently with hand at ear.