She was not accustomed to it; and she answered with some sharpness:

"Yes, but the road is real, whereas I understand your embarrassment
through the attentions of ladies is purely fictitious."

Riatt wondered how fictitious, but he turned the cutter about in
obedience to her commands. The horse started forward even more gaily,
under the impression that he was going home. But for the drivers, the
change was not so agreeable. A high wind had come up, the snow was
falling faster, and the light of the winter afternoon, already beginning
to fade, was obscured by high, dark, silver-edged banks of clouds.

"Upon my word," said Riatt, "I think we had better go back."

"It's only a little way from here," Christine answered, trying hard to
think how far it really was. She did want to get her father's coat, but
she was not indifferent to the triumph of making Riatt late for dinner,
and leaving Nancy Almar throughout the afternoon with no companion but
Wickham or Jack Ussher.

The wind cut their faces, the horse pulled and pranced, the gaiety had
gone out of their little expedition. They drove on a mile or so, and then
Riatt stopped the horse.

"We've got to go back, Miss Fenimer," he said firmly.

"Oh, please not, Mr. Riatt; we are almost there, and," she added with a
fine sense of filial obligation, "I really feel I must do as my father
asked me."