"It's the same thing." 

 "Not to me." 

 The young girl would not turn her attention from her horses, though in Lawrence's inexpert opinion she could have done so with perfect safety just then, and without impropriety. The most natural and innocent curiosity should have prompted her to look into his eyes for a moment, if only to see whether he were in earnest or not. He would certainly not have thought her a flirt if she had glanced kindly at him. But she looked resolutely at the horses' heads. 

 "Here we are!" she exclaimed suddenly. 

 With a sharp turn to the left the buckboard swept through the open gate, the off horse breaking into a canter which Fanny instantly checked. The near wheels passed within a foot of the gatepost. 

 "Wasn't that rather close?" asked Lawrence. 

 "Why? There was lots of room. Are you nervous?" 

 "I suppose I am, since you say so." 

 "I didn't say so. I asked." 

 "And I answered," said Lawrence, tartly. 

 "How sensitive you are! You act as though I had called you a coward." 

 "I thought you meant to. It sounded rather like it." 

 "You have no right to think that I mean things which I haven't said," answered the young girl. 

 "Oh, very well. I apologize for thinking that what you said meant anything." 

 "Don't lose your temper—don't be a spoilt baby!" 

 Lawrence said nothing, and they reached the house in silence. Fanny was not mistaken in calling him sensitive, though he was by no means so nervous, perhaps, as she seemed ready to believe. She had a harsh way of saying things which, spoken with a smile, could not have given offence, and Lawrence was apt to attach real importance to her careless speeches. He felt himself out of his element from the first, in a place where he might be expected to do things in which he could not but show an awkward inexperience, and he was ready to resent anything like the suggestion that timidity was at the 

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