She kept
her ear trained for the rhythmic beat in the distance and decided when
she heard it she would increase her speed and not let him catch her
till she was up with the train. Then she would coldly listen to his
words of apology and have the satisfaction of seeing him look small,
and probably not know what to say.
Only it didn't happen that way. He made no attempt to follow. As she
galloped across the plain he drew his horse to a walk, his face dark
and frowning. Her scorn and blush had left his blood hot. Her last
words had fired his anger. He had known her antagonism, seen it in her
face on the night when Bella was sick, felt its sting when she turned
from him to laugh with the others. And it had stirred him to a secret
irritation. For he told himself she was only a baby, but a pretty
baby, on whose brown and rosy face and merry slits of eyes a man might
like to look. Now he gazed after her swearing softly through his beard
and holding his horse to its slowest step. As her figure receded he
kept his eyes upon it. They were long-sighted eyes, used to great
distances, and they watched, intent and steady, to see if she would
turn her head.
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