"Ann Westmore," he said.
She sat motionless for a full moment, then she answered, very low, "You know, then."
"And you thought that would matter to me?"
"Yes."
The color swept into his face. "So that's why you sent me away, and would have none of me all summer!" He drew back. "Will you come with me now, where I can talk to you, or will you drive on with your Westmore and Penniman pride and leave me to travel alone?"
Ann looked down at the reins, then up, straight up the avenue, a long enough moment to vision the future. Her thoughts, whatever they were, drew the color of surprise from her face. Then she looked at Baird, lips parted a little and eyes blank, like one frightened by what she had seen.
"Will you come?" Baird repeated.
"Yes." She dropped the reins and moved vaguely, as if to get out on the other side, but Baird reached in and lifted her, held her up, as he had once before, long enough to look steadily into her troubled eyes.
Then he set her down. "Come this way—I'll take my answer, whatever it's to be, here—not in the middle of the road."
He guided her to the spot he had chosen. "We'll fight it out here," he said in the same controlled way, though his eyes were alight.