"The first I ever left," he replied, with a shake of the head. "But there was such a generous supply of materials it seemed a pity, and, besides, the song was haunting me."
"It was haunting me this morning when I woke up," she said, this time her face straight ahead so that she might avoid a rope of wild grapevine that hung close to her side of the trail.
And Graham, gazing at her face in profile, at her crown of gold-brown hair, at her singing throat, felt the old ache at the heart, the hunger and the yearning. The nearness of her was a provocation. The sight of her, in her fawn-colored silk corduroy, tormented him with a rush of visions of that form of hers--swimming Mountain Lad, swan- diving through forty feet of air, moving down the long room in the dull-blue dress of medieval fashion with the maddening knee-lift of the clinging draperies.
"A penny for them," she interrupted his visioning. His answer was prompt.
"Praise to the Lord for one thing: you haven't once mentioned Dick."
"Do you so dislike him?"
"Be fair," he commanded, almost sternly. "It is because I like him. Otherwise..."
"What?" she queried.
Her voice was brave, although she looked straight before her at the Fawn's pricking ears.
"I can't understand why I remain. I should have been gone long ago."
"Why?" she asked, her gaze still on the pricking ears.
"Be fair, be fair," he warned. "You and I scarcely need speech for understanding."
She turned full upon him, her cheeks warming with color, and, without speech, looked at him. Her whip-hand rose quickly, half way, as if to press her breast, and half way paused irresolutely, then dropped down to her side. But her eyes, he saw, were glad and startled. There was no mistake. The startle lay in them, and also the gladness. And he, knowing as it is given some men to know, changed the bridle rein to his other hand, reined close to her, put his arm around her, drew her till the horses rocked, and, knee to knee and lips on lips, kissed his desire to hers. There was no mistake--pressure to pressure, warmth to warmth, and with an elate thrill he felt her breathe against him.
The next moment she had torn herself loose. The blood had left her face. Her eyes were blazing. Her riding-whip rose as if to strike him, then fell on the startled Fawn. Simultaneously she drove in both spurs with such suddenness and force as to fetch a groan and a leap from the mare.