"Perhaps further than that,
ultimately."
She threw him a quick glance and encountered his eyes fixed on her with a
kind of gay bravado--like that of a small boy experimenting how far he dare
go. It irritated her--this sanguine assumption of his that he was going to
count for something in her life. She walked on more quickly.
"Aren't you rather a conceited person?" she asked mildly.
"I'd prefer to call it having decided ideas," he returned.
"Well, you must know you can't force your ideas on other people."
"Can't I?" He halted in the middle of the path and faced her. "Do you
really think that?"
Ann avoided meeting his glance, but she felt it playing over her like
lightning over a summer sky. It was as though he had flung down a challenge
and dared her to pick it up. She temporised.
"Do I think--what? I've almost forgotten what we were talking about."
"No, you haven't," he returned bluntly. "You're merely evading the
question--as every woman does when she's afraid to answer."
"I'm not afraid!" exclaimed Ann indignantly. "I certainly shouldn't be
afraid of you," she added, emphasising the final pronoun pointedly.
"Shouldn't you?" He looked down at her with an odd intentness.
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