Missy's face grew hot; blushing was not now a pleasure; she looked up, then down; she didn't know where to look.
“Gimme one, too! You got to play fair, Missy—gimme one, too!”
Then, in that confusion of spirit, she heard her voice, which didn't seem to be her own voice but a stranger's, saying:
“All right, you can have one, too, if you want it, Don.”
Don forthwith advanced. Missy couldn't forebear a timid glance toward Raymond. Raymond was not looking pleased. She wished she might assure him she didn't really want to give the lock to Don, and yet, at the same time, she felt strangely thrilled at that lowering look on Raymond's face. It was curious. She wanted Raymond to be happy, yet she didn't mind his being just a little bit unhappy—this way. Oh, how complicated and fascinating life can be!
During the remainder of their stay at the ford Missy was preoccupied with this new revelation of herself and with a furtive study of Raymond whose continued sulkiness was the cause of it. Raymond didn't once come to her side during all that endless three-mile tramp back to Cherryvale; but she was conscious of his eye on her as she trudged along beside Don Jones. She didn't feel like talking to Don Jones. Nor was the rest of the crowd, now, a lively band; it was harder to laugh than it had been in the morning; harder even to talk. And when they did talk, little unsuspected irritabilities began to gleam out. For now, when weary feet must somehow cover those three miles, thoughts of the journey's end began to rise up in the truants' minds. During the exalted moments of adventure they hadn't thought of consequences. That's a characteristic of exalted moments. But now, so to speak, the ball was over, the roses all shattered and faded, and the weary dancers must face the aftermath of to-morrow...
And Missy, trudging along the dusty road beside Don Jones who didn't count, felt all kinds of shadows rising up to eclipse brightness in her soul. What would Professor Sutton do?—he was fearfully strict. And father and mother would never understand...
If only Don Jones would stop babbling to her! Why did he persist in walking beside her, anyway? That lock of hair didn't mean anything! She wished she hadn't given it to him; why had she, anyway? She herself couldn't comprehend why, and Raymond would never, never comprehend.
The farther she walked, the less she saw the pleasanter aspects of Raymond's jealousy and the more what might be the outcome of it. Perhaps he'd never have anything to do with her again. That would be terrible! And she'd have such a short time to try making it up. For in less than a month she'd have to go with Aunt Isabel to Colorado; and, then, she wouldn't see Raymond for weeks and weeks. Colorado! It was like talking of going to the moon, a dreary, dead, far-off moon, with no one in it to speak to. Aunt Isabel? Aunt Isabel was sweet, but she was so old—nearly thirty! How could she, Missy, go and leave Raymond misunderstanding her so?
But who can tell how Fate may work to confound rewards and punishments!