ings. Since she
was in advance, and edging on, as if to get farther away from him,
George's opportunity was plain. The road wasn't wide enough for four
abreast. If he could move forward with her Blodgett and Sinclair would
have to ride together.

"Since I'm the last," he interrupted them, "mayn't I have first place?"

Quite as a matter of course he put his horse through and reined in at
her side. They started forward.

"You ride as well as ever," he commented.

She shot a glance at him. Calmly he studied the striking details of her
face. Each time he saw her she seemed more desirable. How was he to
touch those lips that had filled his boy's heart with bursting thoughts?
For the first time since that day they rode together, only now he was at
her side, instead of heeling like a trained dog. In his man's fashion he
was as well clothed as she. When they got back he would enter the great
house with her instead of going to the stables. Whether she cared to
acknowledge it or not he was of her kind--more so than the millionaire
Blodgett ever could be. So he absorbed her beauty which fired his
imagination. Such a repetition seemed ominous of a second climax in
their relations.

Her quick glance, however, disclosed only resentment for his intrusion.
He excused it.

"You see, I couldn't very well ride behind you."

She turned away.

"Hurry a little," Blodgett called.

It was what George wished, as she wished to crawl, never far in advance
of the others.

"Come," he said, and flecked her horse with his crop.

"Don't do that again!"

He had gathered his own horse, and was galloping. Hers insisted on
following. When George pulled in to keep at her side they were well in
advance of the others. Now that he was alone with her he found it
difficult to speak, and evidently she would limit his opportunity, for
as he drew in she spurred her horse. He caught her, laughing.

"You may as well understand that I'll never ride behind you again."

She pressed her provocative lips together. So in silence, except for the
crunching and scattering of the snow, they tore on through the dusk,
rounding curves between hedges, rising to heights above bare, white
stretches of landscape, dipping into hollows already won by the night.
And each moment they came nearer the house.

In the night of the hollows he battled his desire to reach over and
touch her, and cry out:

"Sylvia! You've got to understand!"

And in one such place her hor