"
"You asked me to ride with you," returned Max, "but if you have changed
your mind and insist on being ill-tempered, I will--"
She reached out her hand, and, grasping his bridle-reins, threw them
over the pommel of her saddle.
"Now let me see what you will do, my great Lord Somebody," she cried
defiantly. "You shall not only ride beside me, but you shall also
listen good-humoredly to my jests when I am pleased to make them, and
bear with my ill-humor when I am pleased to be ill-humored."
Max left the bridle-reins in her hand, but did not smile. She was not to
be driven from her mood.
"You are such a serious person, Sir Max, that you must, at times, feel
yourself a great weight--almost burdensome--to carry about." She
laughed, though his resentment had piqued her, and there was a dash of
anger in her words. "Ponderous persons are often ridiculous and are apt
to tire themselves with their own weight--no, Sir Max, you can't get
away. I have your reins."
"I can dismount," returned Max, "and leave you my horse to lead."
He turned to leave his saddle, but she caught his arm, rode close to his
side, and, slipping her hand down his sleeve, clasped his hand--if a
hand so small as hers can be said to clasp one so large as his.
A beautiful woman is born with a latent consciousness of her power over
the subjugated sex. Max found in the soft touch of the girl's hand a
wonderful antidote to her sharp words. She continued to hold his hand as
compensation while she said, laughing nervously:--
"Sir Max, you are still young.
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