I might begin to expect too much.

And that would be--silly of me, wouldn't it ?" There was no bitterness in voice or action, but there was unmistakable irony.

A curious sense of coldness came upon her, as if out of the heart a distant storm-cloud an icy breath had reached her.
She looked at him rather piteously.

"You are not angry ?" she said.
He leaned back in the saddle to knock a blood-sucking fly off his horse's flank.

Then he straightened himself and laughed.
"No, not in the least," he said.
She knew that he spoke the truth, yet her heart misgave her.