"I promised to see you safely there, and that is all about it," said I drily.
"Yes, sir. But I ask your pardon for exacting your promise.... And—I ask pardon for—for stealing your horse."
There seemed to ensue a longer silence than I intended, and I realized that I had been looking at her without other thought than of her dark, young eyes under her yellow hair.
"What did you say?" I asked absently.
She hesitated, then: "You do not like me, Mr. Drogue."
"Did I say so?" said I, startled.
"No.... I feel that you do not like me. Is it because I used you without decency when I stole your horse?"
"Perhaps some trifling chagrin remains. But it is now over—because you say you are sorry."
"I am so."
"Then—I am friendly—if you so desire, Penelope Grant."