She also understood that
Mr. Forsyth was begging her to bestow upon him any little piece of news
that she might have obtained. But that seemed to her mean--spying--spying
on her own father. So she only said:
"You're very fond of riding, aren't you?"
"Love it," said Mr. Forsyth, whinnying so exactly like a happy pony that
Joan jumped. "Don't you?"
"I've never been on horseback in my life," said Joan. "I'd like to try."
"Never in your life?" Mr. Forsyth stared. "Why, I was on a pony before I
was three. Fact. Good for a clergyman, riding----"
"I think it's nearly time for the next dance," said Joan. "Would you
kindly take me back to my mother?"
She was conscious, as they plunged down-stream, of all the burning
glances. She held her head high. Her eyes flashed. She was going to dance
with Johnny, and they could look as much as they liked.
Mr. Forsyth delivered her to her mother and went cantering off. Joan sat
down, smoothed her dress and stared at the vast shiny lake of amber in
which the silver candelabra were reflected like little islands. She looked
at her mother and was suddenly sorry for her.
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