She was clever enough to recognize the bar he set to flirtation with the woman loved by the man he gave that name, and she regarded the obstacle as a challenge. She was not sufficiently old or fine to realize that such bars are not crossed by such men. If Gerard had loved her or believed she might love him, he must have left his friend's house; as Corrie would have left Gerard's in like case. As a matter of fact, Gerard was perfectly aware of the immunity of both parties and that Isabel was merely seeking temporary diversion—experimenting with the possibilities of her own heady youth.
A forking of the road supplied a new subject for discussion.
"Turn to the left," Isabel directed, sitting erect.
Surprised, Gerard checked the machine.
"We did not come that way, Miss Rose."
"Of course not; you came by the long route, past the Goodwin farm. This is a better road."
"Better?"
She followed his gaze down the vista of slippery, rut-grooved mud, and colored.
"A shorter road, then," she amended petulantly. "I am sure I don't care—go the long way if you wish. The storm is blowing back again, but I can stand the rain."