"Why, it's never you!" she exclaimed, surprised.
"Well, that's not my fault, Betty," he gayly returned. "If I had my way, I
assure you it would be always I. You mustn't blame a fellow for his ill
luck, you know." Then he laid his hand on her bridle and faced her sternly.
"Look here, Betty, you haven't been treating me right," he said.
She threw out a deprecating little gesture. "Do I need to put on more
humility?" she questioned, humbly. "Is it respect that I have failed in,
sir?"
"Oh, bosh!" he interposed, rudely. "I want to know why you went riding
three afternoons with Champe--it wasn't fair of you, you know."
Betty sighed sadly. "No one has ever asked me before why I went riding with
Champe," she confessed, "and the mighty secret has quite gnawed into my
heart."
"Share it with me," begged Dan, gallantly, "only I warn you that I shall
have no mercy upon Champe."
"Poor Champe," said Betty.
"At least he went riding with you three afternoons--lucky Champe!"
"Ah, so he did; and must I tell you why?"
He nodded. "You shan't go home until you do," he declared grimly.
Betty reached up and plucked a handful of aspen leaves, scattering them
upon the road.
"By what right, O horse-taming Hector (isn't that the way they talk in
Homer?)"
"By the right of the strongest, O fair Helena (it's the way they talk in
translations of Homer)."
"How very learned you are!" sighed Betty.
"How very lovely you are!" sighed Dan.
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