The girl's brown eyes were cast down demurely. "Yes, for good," she repeated.
They had been losing ground. Now in silence they galloped ahead, the regular muffled patter of their horses' feet upon the frozen sod sounding like the distant rattle of a snare-drum. Once again even with the buckboard, they lapsed into a walk.
"You haven't told me where you're going," repeated Blair.
The question seemed to be of purest politeness, as a host inquires if his visitor has rested well; yet for a dozen years they two had lived nearest neighbors, and had grown to maturity side by side. She concluded there were some phases of this silent youth which she had not yet learned.
"We haven't decided where we're going yet," she replied. "Mamma wants to go to England, but papa and I refuse to leave this country. Then daddy wants to live in a small town, and I vote for a big one. Just now we're at deadlock."
A smile started in Ben's blue eyes and spread over his thin face.
"From the way you talk," he said, "I have a suspicion the deadlock won't last long. If I stretch my imagination a little I can guess pretty close to the decision."
Florence was sober a moment; then a smile flashed over her face and left the daintiest of dimples in either cheek.
"Maybe you can," she said.
For the second time they galloped ahead and caught up with the slower buckboard.