“You understand me?”

“I understand ye well enough, sir.”

“Then that is settled.”

“No, sir.”

My lord dropped his eyeglass.

“What the devil do you mean⁠—‘No, sir’?”

“I ask your pardon, sir, an I presume, but I can’t and won’t let ye ride alone with your wound but just healed.” There was not a hint of defiance or impertinence in the quiet voice, but it held a great determination.

“You won’t, eh? Do you imagine I am a child?”

“No, sir.”

“Or unable to take care of myself?”

“I think ye are weaker than ye know, sir.”