He shook his head glumly. "I do, and I don't. I ain't used to city ways by a long shot. There's things one mustn't do, which I don't mind as long as I don't want to do them." "But when you do?" she asked quickly. "Then I do them." His lips had drawn firmly with this affirmation of will, but the next instant he was amending the statement "That is, I mostly do. But what gets me is the things you mustn't do when they're not wrong and they won't hurt anybody--this riding, for instance." She played nervously with a pencil for a time, as if debating her reply, while he waited patiently. "This riding," she began; "it's not what they call the right thing. I leave it to you. You know the world. You are Mr. Harnish, the millionaire--" "Gambler," he broke in harshly She nodded acceptance of his term and went on. "And I'm a stenographer in your office--" "You're a thousand times better than me--" he attempted to interpolate, but was in turn interrupted. "It isn't a question of such things. It's a simple and fairly common situation that must be considered. I work for you. And it isn't what you or I might think, but what other persons will think. And you don't need to be told any more about that. You know yourself." Her cool, matter-of-fact speech belied her--or so Daylight thought, looking at her perturbed feminineness, at the rounded lines of her figure, the breast that deeply rose and fell, and at the color that was now excited in her cheeks. "I'm sorry I frightened you out of your favorite stamping ground," he said rather aimlessly. "You didn't frighten me," she retorted, with a touch of fire. "I'm not a silly seminary girl. I've taken care of myself for a long time now, and I've done it without being frightened. We were together two Sundays, and I'm sure I wasn't frightened of Bob, or you. It isn't that. I have no fears of taking care of myself, but the world insists on taking care of one as well. That's the trouble. It's what the world would have to say about me and my employer meeting regularly and riding in the hills on Sundays. It's funny, but it's so. I could ride with one of the clerks without remark, but with you--no." "But the world don't know and don't need to know," he cried. "Which makes it worse, in a way, feeling guilty of nothing and yet sneaking around back-roads with all the feeling of doing something wrong. It would be finer and braver for me publicly..." "To go to lunch with me on a week-day," Daylight said, divining the drift of her uncompleted argument. She nodded. "I didn't have that quite in mind, but it will do. I'd prefer doing the brazen thing and having everybody know it, to doing the furtive thing and being found out. Not that I'm asking to be invited to lunch," she added, with a smile; "but I'm sure you understand my position." "Then why not ride open and aboveboard with me in the hills?" he urged.