Minna, physically timid, shrieked and fastened a desperate clasp on Gerard’s arm.
“All right! Hold on tight. Not my arm. Nothing will happen,” he said reassuringly. The cyclist, hearing the frightened horses thundering behind him, set his feet on the pedals, put on the brake, and drifted into the hedge. The light carriage leapt and swung. Minna was terrified. In her fright she had left her parasol to the winds, and clung to Gerard’s body with both hands. She was very near him; for a second he took his eyes from the tossing manes and kissed her on her open mouth. She uttered a little cry and turned aside her head. But excitement had warmed his blood. He kissed her again; she could not get beyond his reach; dared not relax her grasp for fear of instant death. He had her at his mercy. As soon as he became aware of regained control of the animals, he let them follow, for a time, their foolish course, and kissed the frenzied girl beside him over and over again, heedless of her struggles and cries.
At last came a slight ascent and Gerard’s powerful arms brought the ponies to their senses. They broke into a moderate pace, and, all danger being over, Minna relaxed her hold and drew as far from Gerard as she could.
“You brute!” she cried tempestuously. “You brute! You cowardly brute!”
With a mighty wrench he pulled up the ponies at the top of the rise, and they stood trembling, spattering their chests with foam. He turned to reply to Minna, but she rose suddenly and, before he could interfere, was clambering out of the high phaeton.
“I shall not stay a moment longer with you. I shall walk back, if I die from it.”
She missed the step, and fell heavily to the ground. A peasant in a blue blouse, who was working in a little patch of garden by the side of the road, ran up and assisted her to rise. Then hailed by Gerard, he went to the horses’ heads, and Gerard sprang to Minna’s assistance.
“You haven’t hurt yourself?”
“I have twisted my foot,” she said sullenly, steadying herself by the phaeton. She was pale with anger and pain. Her veil and hat were awry, one of her gloves had split. The daffodil-yellow costume was white with dust. The consciousness of her aspect incensed her further.
“You’re in a great mess,” he said. And clumsily he began to brush the dust from her skirt. But she twitched it away from him with her free hand.