“Do you know,” she said slowly, “I'm beginning to think you are a brute.”
“That's encouraging,” he replied.
“And fickle.”
“Still more encouraging. Most men are fickle. We're predatory animals.”
“It's just as well that I am warned,” said Honora. She raised her parasol and picked up her skirts and shot him a look. Although he did not resemble in feature the great if unscrupulous Emperor of the French, he reminded her now of a picture she had once seen of Napoleon and a lady; the lady obviously in a little flutter under the Emperor's scrutiny. The picture had suggested a probable future for the lady.
“How long will it take you to dress?” he asked.
“To dress for what?”
“To ride with me.”
“I'm not going to ride with you,” she said, and experienced a tingle of satisfaction from his surprise.
“Why not?” he demanded.