“I didn’t dodge you for that reason,” said Toby.  “I’d have done it whether you’d been there or not.”

“I think not,” Jake said.  “Anyway, you’ll give me your word of honour that you’ll never ride that animal again.”

“My what?” said Toby, and suddenly she broke into a laugh.  “Oh, don’t be funny, Jake!  Bunny rides him.  Why shouldn’t I?”

“That’s quite a different thing,” Jake said.  “Bunny has a man’s strength.  You haven’t.  It’s too dangerous a game for you, see?  And I won’t have it.”

“All right,” said Toby, picking up her riding-whip and turning to go.

He stretched out a hand to detain her.  “You’ll give me that promise,” he said.

She paused for a second, and met the unswerving determination of his eyes.  Then a sudden gleam of blue fire lit her own.  She made a swift movement, and struck the outstretched hand lightly with the switch she carried.

It was a gesture of supreme insolence, but there was conscious daring in her look.  Jake’s hand leapt like an angry dog upon the switch and gripped it.

“That was a mistake,” he said, and the words, though slow, had a cutting quality that was somehow more imposing than open wrath.

Toby faced him with unabated courage, but she had begun to quiver.  She spoke no word.

Jake’s hand fell.  He turned from her, and pulled out his pipe.  There was dignity in the action—­the dignity of strength that refuses to assert itself.

And Toby suddenly crumpled.  She sprang after him like a contrite child, and caught his arm.  “Oh, Jake, forgive me!  Do please forgive me!  I’m a beast—­a beast!” she cried tremulously.

Jake looked at her, the hint of a smile about his rugged mouth.  “I guess not,” he said.  “You’re just—­young.”

She shook her head vehemently.  “I’m not!  It wasn’t that, Jake!  I didn’t—­hurt you?”

“Shucks, no!” he said.

She clung to his arm still.  “I’ll never disobey you again.  I won’t do anything you don’t like.  Jake, I mean it!  Why are you laughing?”

“I’m not,” said Jake.  He put his pipe away again, and patted her shoulder.  “All right.  Don’t say any more!” he said.

Toby gulped down some obstruction in the throat.  “I must.  I’ve got to ask you something.  You’re so awfully decent.  I can’t—­I won’t—­do things you don’t like.”

“What do you want to know?” said Jake.

Her other hand came up and fastened tightly upon his arm.  “I don’t know how to tell you,” she said.  “I—­I had a rotten night last night.  That’s why I went out alone this morning.  And I took Knuckle-Duster because the devil tempted me.”

“I see,” said Jake.  His red-brown eyes were very kindly in their directness.  “What did you have a bad night about?”

Her hold upon him tightened.  Something of entreaty made itself felt in her grasp.  There was fear in the wide blue eyes so resolutely lifted to his.