"What could be better?" she said when they checked their horses on a hilltop to look over a gradual falling of the ground below. "What could be better?" The wind flattened a loose curl of hair against her cheek, and overhead the wild geese were flying and crying, small and far away.
"One thing better," said Donnegan, "and that is to sit in a chair and see this."
She frowned at such frankness; it was almost blunt discourtesy.
"How long has it been," the girl asked sharply, "since you have slept?"
He lifted his eyes slowly from a glittering, distant rock, and brought his glance toward her by degrees. He had a way of exciting people even in the most commonplace conversation, and the girl felt a thrill under his look.
"That," said Donnegan, "is a dangerous question."
And he allowed such hunger to come into his eye that she caught her breath. The imp of perversity made her go on.
It was an excellent excuse for an outpouring of the heart from Donnegan, but, instead, his eyes twinkled at her.
She could not help laughing, and her laughter trailed away musically in her excitement.
"Having once let down the bars I cannot keep you at arm's length. After last night I suppose I should never have let you see me for--days and days."
"That's why I'm curious," said Donnegan, "and not flattered. I'm trying to find what purpose you have in taking me riding."
"I wonder," she said thoughtfully, "if you will."
And since such fencing with the wits delighted her, she let all her delight come with a sparkle in her eyes.
"And that is that you may have the old-woman curiosity to find out how many ways a man can tell her that he's fond of her."
Though she flushed a little she kept her poise admirably.
"I suppose that is part of my interest," she admitted.
"I can think of a great many ways of saying it," said Donnegan. "I am the dry desert, you are the rain, and yet I remain dry and produce no grass." "A very pretty comparison," said the girl with a smile.
"A very green one," and Donnegan smiled. "I am the wind and you are the wild geese, and yet I keep on blowing after you are gone and do not carry away a feather of you."
"And silly. But, really, you are very kind to me, and I shall try not to take too much advantage of it."