Ann thought of the thing that had added hurt to hurt, her father's pleasure in Sue. They had been painfully kind to her at dinner, and after the meal was over he had gone off with Sue, they two to talk together.
"Yes," Ann said. "I'm not afraid. We're doing nothing wrong in liking each other."
"I'll think of a way and write to you."
She got up. "An' I must go now." Her lips quivered and set. "My father has gone with Aunt Sue—to walk around the farm—but they'll be coming back before supper."
"I am afraid you must, dear. If I brought them down on you, I should never forgive myself.... I can go with you to where I met you."
He went with her around to the back of the Crest, down the steep red-clay slope and into the shelter of the bushes. There he lifted her up and kissed her. "Ann!" he said. "Ann! I'm going to make you love me."
Ann received his kiss more shyly, turned her cheek to it. She had emerged a little from wretchedness, and the quality that invites pursuit, that draws passion and gives sparingly in return, the quality with which Ann was plentifully endowed, was coming to the surface. She escaped from his hands without answer and with eyes down.