"What rest—who?" she asked in surprise.
"Oh, the whole bunch," Anne jerked out impatiently; "the women in the town. They don't like me—an' they go out o' the way to show it. God!—sometimes I hate to think I belong to them—but they ain't women."
"Oh, yes, they are, Anne," Cherry replied, "but they don't understand, that's all."
"Understand? Understand—nothin'! I was ready to like them before I understood them. When I got to understand them—I passed 'em up. One good thing—they ain't many—so it don't matter much."
"Well, don't put me with them, Anne," Cherry returned.
Anne did not reply at once, but when she did there was caution in her tone.
"Do you remember the first time you saw me?" she asked.
"Yes."
Cherry had remembered—the memory of it had burned itself into her brain.
"Did you speak to me then as if you understood?" Anne questioned.