But Bess, with a sudden movement, placed herself in front of Nancy.
"You don't never say one word more!" she burst out. "And I wish you would."
Nancy looked at her in surprise. "Why—what do you want me to say?" she asked. "I don't understand."
Bess hung her head and was silent. She had spoken under a momentary impulse, and now shyness seized upon her. Rough-mannered Bess was by no means wont to suffer from shyness, and the sensation came as a novelty.
"I'd like to walk along the lane with you," she muttered at length.
Nancy was perplexed, knowing well that her mother would strongly disapprove of any intercourse beyond the exchange of bare civilities between Bess and herself. She stood still, thinking.
"I ain't good enough for you. But I'd like a talk with you sometimes. Don't see why I shouldn't. Might make me better, you know," continued Bess awkwardly.
"I should like to help anybody," Nancy said, speaking slowly. "Anybody that wants help. I should like to help you—if I could," and she hesitated, "but—"
"But you don't choose to be seen walking along of me," cried Bess, in loud tones.
"It isn't choosing—indeed it is not," said Nancy, distressed at the other's look. "Bess, please believe me. It is only—I always tell mother first—and then—"