marked. It drove me to give in wholly to this earnest and passionate
side of myself.

"Sally, I do love you. I don't know how you took my actions. Anyway, now
I'll make them plain. I was beside myself with love and jealousy. Will
you marry me?"

She did not answer. But the old willful Sally was not in evidence.
Watching her face I gave her a slow and gentle pull, one she could
easily resist if she cared to, and she slipped from her saddle into my
arms.

Then there was one wildly sweet moment in which I had the blissful
certainty that she kissed me of her own accord. She was abashed, yet
yielding; she let herself go, yet seemed not utterly unstrung. Perhaps
I was rough, held her too hard, for she cried out a little.

"Russ! Let me go. Help me--back."

I righted her in the saddle, although not entirely releasing her.

"But, Sally, you haven't told me anything," I remonstrated tenderly. "Do
you love me?"

"I think so," she whispered.

"Sally, will you marry me?"

She disengaged herself then, sat erect and faced away from me, with her
breast heaving.