"Oh," he said, as he rolled over on his back with his head resting in his hands, "wasn't that beautiful?"
"The race—yes, indeed, it was splendid."
"No, I don't mean the race. That was horrible. I mean to see you run." (Gasp.)
Margaret's face was sparkling with excitement and color, while her bosom rose and fell after her exertion.
"I can run fast, can I not?" Her arms were hanging demurely at her side again. She could run, but she never seemed to be at all masculine.
"I never ran a race with a man before," she said, laughing.
"And never will run another with this individual," said Rankin. "Nothing goes so fast as a train you have missed, just as it leaves the station, and yet I have caught it sometimes. You can go faster than anything I ever saw." (A breath.) "It is a good thing to know when one is beaten. You will always be an uncatchable distance before me." (A sigh.)
"My shoes are full of sand," said Margaret ruefully, looking down at them.
"Mine are full of water," said Maurice. He did not seem to care. He was quite content to lie there and gaze at her without reservation. And, with his heightened color and excitement, he actually appeared rather good looking.
"I think the least you could do would be to offer to take the sand out of my shoes," said Margaret.