was aërial, ecstatic, with a thrilling sense of perpetuity in its effect. Octavia sat silent, possessed by a feeling of elemental, sensual bliss. Teddy seemed to be wrestling with some internal problem.
“I’m going to call you madama,” he announced as the result of his labours. “That is what the Mexicans will call you—they’re nearly all Mexicans on the ranch, you know. That seems to me about the proper thing.”
“Very well, Mr. Westlake,” said Octavia, primly.
“Oh, now,” said Teddy, in some consternation, “that’s carrying the thing too far, isn’t it?”
“Don’t worry me with your beastly etiquette. I’m just beginning to live. Don’t remind me of anything artificial. If only this air could be bottled! This much alone is worth coming for. Oh, look! there goes a deer!”
“Jack-rabbit,” said Teddy, without turning his head.
“Could I—might I drive?” suggested Octavia, panting, with rose-tinted cheeks and the eye of an eager child.
“On one condition. Could I—might I smoke?”
“Forever!” cried Octavia, taking the lines with solemn Joy. “How shall I know which way to drive?”
“Keep her sou’ by sou’east, and all sail set. You see that black speck on the horizon under that lowermost Gulf cloud? That’s a group of live-oaks and a landmark. Steer halfway between that and the little hill to the left. I’ll recite you the whole code of driving rules for the Texas prairies: keep the reins from under the horses’ feet, and swear at ’em frequent.”
