Miss Deborah to respect him, was asking one and another what were the
arrangements for the return journey.

"I," said Rose, who hugged a puppy in her arms--a puppy long
possessed, but only now old enough to leave its mother--"I am going in
the buggy with Jim."

"Wouldn't you rather go in the pony-carriage?" inquired Carey
anxiously. "You could make a better lap on the lower seat. I
could ride your horse home for you if they'll lend me a saddle; yours
could be put in the buggy--"

Even as he spoke, Deb came round the corner from somewhere, with swift
steps and a brilliant complexion, Dalzell hurrying after her.

"Mr Carey," she called, while the sailor was still yards away from her,
"Molly and I are going to change skirts. I am tired with my ride this
morning, and am going to drive home. Will you trust your neck to me?"

Would he not, indeed? He was but a pawn in the game, but what did that
matter? Eighteen miles absolutely alone with her! And possibly half of
them in the dark! No saddle horse in the world could have tempted him
now. He could hardly speak his gratitude and joy.

"Delighted, Miss Deborah!--delighted!--delighted!"

But Dalzell, black as thunder, swung aside, muttering in his teeth.

"Oh, oh!" Francie's loud whisper followed. "DID you hear what he said?
He said 'damn'. That's because--"