"No," she smiled at him. "Only I was thinking about you, and there you were." There was no coquetry in her tone; she stated the fact frankly and simply. "Do you remember how you put Toby in here, and how Diogenes hated it?"
"I remember how you looked under the lantern."
"Oh,"—she had not expected that,—"do you?"
"Yes. But I had seen you before. You were standing on a rock with holly in your arms. I saw you from the train throw something into the river. I have often wondered what it was."
"I didn't want to burn my holly wreaths after Christmas. I hate to burn things that have been alive."
"So do I. Eve would say that we were sentimentalists. But I have never quite been able to see why a sentimentalist isn't quite as worthy of respect as a materialist—however, I am not here to argue that. I want you to ride with me to the ridge. To see the foxes by moonlight," he further elucidated. "Run in and get ready. I am to take some horses up for the others."
She rose and reached for her lantern. "The others?" she looked an inquiry over her shoulder.
"Eve and her crowd. They are still at Crossroads."
She stood irresolute. Then, "I think I'd rather not go."
"Why not?" sharply.