Then she was furious with herself, and began to hate him fiercely, until she saw something in his face that startled her. The mare came up; she flung the bridle over hastily, set foot to metal, and seated herself in a flash. Then she looked down at the man beside her, prepared for his next remark.
It came at once. “When may we ride together, Miss Elliott?”
She became strangely indulgent. “You know,” she said, as though instructing youth, “that the first proper thing to do is to call upon my father, because he is older than you, and he is physically unable to make the first call.”
“Then by Wednesday we may ride?” he inquired, so guilessly that she broke into a peal of delicious laughter.
“How old are you, Mr. Burleson? Ten?”
“I feel younger,” he said.
“So do I,” she said. “I feel like a little girl in a muslin gown.” Two spots of color tinted her cheeks. He had never seen such beauty in human guise, and he came very near saying so. Something in the aromatic mountain air was tempting her to recklessness. Amazed, exhilarated by the temptation, she sat there looking down at him; and her smile was perilously innocent and sweet.
“Once,” she said, “I knew a boy—like you—when I wore a muslin frock, and I have never forgotten him. He was extremely silly.”
“Do you remember only silly people?”
“I can’t forget them; I try.”