"I did."
"So you're going to become jealous, Gyp?"
It was one of those cold, naked sayings that should never be spoken
between lovers--one of those sayings at which the heart of the one who
speaks sinks with a kind of dismay, and the heart of the one who hears
quivers. She cantered on. And he, perforce, after her. When she reined
in again, he glanced into her face and was afraid. It was all closed up
against him. And he said softly:
"I didn't mean that, Gyp."
But she only shook her head. He HAD meant it--had wanted to hurt her! It
didn't matter--she wouldn't give him the chance again. And she said:
"Look at that long white cloud, and the apple-green in the sky--rain
to-morrow. One ought to enjoy any fine day as if it were the last."
Uneasy, ashamed, yet still a little angry, Summerhay rode on beside her.
That night, she cried in her sleep; and, when he awakened her, clung to
him and sobbed out:
"Oh! such a dreadful dream! I thought you'd left off loving me!"
For a long time he held and soothed her. Never, never! He would never
leave off loving her!
But a cloud no broader than your hand can spread and cover the whole
day.
V
The summer passed, and always there was that little patch of silence in
her heart, and in his. The tall, bright days grew taller, slowly passed
their zenith, slowly shortened. On Saturdays and Sundays, sometimes with
Winton and little Gyp, but more often alone, they went on the river.
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