The gray in the east changed to pink, delicately tinting the whole upper sky, objects taking clearer form, a light breeze rustling the long grass.

Tirelessly the pony trotted, his head down, the lines lying loose.

I turned to gaze at my companion, and our eyes met.
Hers were either gray or blue; I could not be certain which, so quickly were they lowered, and so shadowed by long lashes.

And they were merry eyes, smiling, and deep with secrets no man could hope to solve.

Perhaps she deemed it only fair that I should look at her as she had been observing me; perhaps it was but the coquetry of the "eternal feminine" conscious of her own attraction, but she sat there silent, the lashes shading her eyes, the clear light of the dawn upon her face.