Lura Ann's cheeks grew pinker than the bunch of apple blossoms at her throat. "Your sisters and I air different people," she said, in her plaintive, soft voice.
Sackford feasted his eyes in the blush. The veins in his short, thick neck began to swell, and he shifted the reins to his right hand and laid the left across the back of the seat. But Lura Ann sat up very straight.
"Lean back and be comfortable," he urged.
"Take away your arm then, please," faltered Lura Ann. And just then Ben Falconer, coming across a field in his coarse working clothes, saw her drooping with the blush upon her cheek and Sackford's arm about her waist. He stood still, and looked after the handsome team with a frown and a sigh. Lura Ann had not seen him, but Sackford had, and secretly blessed the hour. Yet he did not dare kiss Lura Ann, as he had intended.
"Where shall I take you first?" he asked, as they entered the town.
"To Mr. Wright's, if you please."
"Of course—he holds some little money belonging to her, I've heard," thought Sackford.
"Don't wait for me," she said, but he waited, and she was gone a long time. When she came out she was pale, as if she had been worried. Yet she looked resolute, and spoke in a tone that had lost all its timidity.
"Take me to the old red brick house at the end of the street," she said, eagerly, "and oh be quick!"
"Why, what's the attraction in that old rookery—a new milliner?" jested Sackford. He could not conceive the idea of a woman's being interested in anything but clothes.