She opened her eyes.
"Will you marry me?"
"No."
His eyes seemed starting from his head and the deep blood rushed to his face and neck, and he flung her bridle into her face with an inarticulate sound.
Then, slowly, side by side they advanced along the road together. A groom met them at Witch-Hollow; Strelsa slipped from her saddle without aid and, leisurely, erect, smiling, walked up to the veranda where Molly stood reading the morning paper.
"Hello dear," she said. "Am I very late for luncheon?"
"It's over. Will you have a tray out here?"
"May I?"
"Don't you want to change, first?"
"Yes, thanks."