re, up a hill all purple with plumy bunch-grass, and forward to
the edge of a gravel-pit, where she whirled her mare about, drew bridle,
and flung up a warning hand just in time. His escape was narrower; his
horse's hind hoofs loosened a section of undermined sod; the animal
stumbled, sank back, strained with every muscle, and dragged himself
desperately forward; while behind him the entire edge of the pit gave
way, crashing and clattering into the depths below.

They were both rather white when they faced each other.

"Don't take such a risk again," he said, harshly.

"I won't," she answered, with dry lips; but she was not thinking of
herself. Suddenly she became very humble, guiding her mare alongside of
his horse, and in a low voice asked him to pardon her folly.

And, not thinking of himself, he scored her for the risk she had taken,
alternately reproaching, arguing, bullying, pleading, after the fashion
of men. And, still shaken by the peril she had so wilfully sought, he
asked her not to do it again, for his sake--an informal request that she
accepted with equal informality and a slow droop of her head.

Never had she received such a thorough, such a satisfying scolding.
There was not one word too much--every phrase refreshed her, every
arbitrary intonation sang in her ears like music. And so far not one
selfish note had been struck.

She listened, eyes downcast, face delicately flushed--listened until it
pleased him to make an end, which he did with amazing lack of skill:

"What do you suppose life would hold for _me_ with you at the bottom of
that gravel-pit?"

The selfish note rang out, unmistakable, imperative--the clearest,
sweetest note of all to her. But the question was no question and
required no answer. Besides, he had said enough--just enough.

"Let us ride home," she said, realizing that they were on dangerous
ground again--dangerous as the gravel-hill.

And a few moments later she caught a look in his face that disconcerted
and stampeded her. "It was partly your own fault, Mr. Burleson. Why does
not your friend take away the mare he has bought and paid for?"

"Partly--my--fault!" he repeated, wrathfully.

"Can you not let a woman have that much consolation?" she said, lifting
her gray eyes to his with a little laugh. "Do you insist on being the
only and perfect embodiment of omniscience?"

He said, rather sulkily, that he didn't think he was omniscient, and she
pretended to doubt it, unt