Laughter thawed her; for notwithstanding the fearless confidence she had been taught for men of her own kind, self-possession and reserve, if not inherent, had also been drilled into her, and she required a great deal in a man before she paid him the tribute of one of her pretty laughs.
Apparently they were advancing rather rapidly.
“Don't you think we ought to call the dog in, Mr. Siward?”
“Yes; he's had enough!”
She drew rein; he sprang out and whistled; and the Sagamore pup, dusty and happy came romping back. Siward motioned him to the rumble, but the dog leaped to the front.
“I don't mind,” said the girl. “Let him sit here between us. And you might occupy yourself by pulling some of those burrs from his ears—if you will?”
“Of course I will. Look up here, puppy! No! Don't try to lick my face, for that is bad manners. Demonstrations are odious, as the poet says.”
“It's always bad manners, isn't it?” asked Miss Landis.
“What? Being affectionate?”
“Yes, and admitting it.”