"Did I really? I must have been asleep."
"Far from it. Your eyes were as bright as—as—"
"This music is very reassuring, isn't it?"
"Yes; please blame the music if I grow too rash. But you really were wonderful. I thought you were a boy at first. And you ride so well! You were racing your father. How could you be so wide awake after so strenuous a night?"
"Oh, I had to get up. It is poor Dad's only chance nowadays. He's awfully busy in the Street, and he's so worried. And he needs the exercise. He won't take it unless I go along."
There was an interlude of tenderness in the music. He responded to it.
"That's very beautiful and self-sacrificing of you. But how can you keep up the pace?"
"I can't, much longer. I'm almost all in. The season is nearly over, though. If everything goes right, Dad and I will get out of town—to the other side, perhaps. Then I can sleep all the way across. If he can't go abroad, we'll be alone anyway, since everybody else will leave town. Then I can catch up on sleep."
"You must be made of iron," he said.
"Am I so heavy as all that?"