“I haven’t any idea what I’ve got you into,” said Agnes.
“Seem’s it ain’t ready yet,” he said, and smiled at her.
His smile was a revelation, swift and unexpected, like an event in a starlit sky. Agnes had not seen it before. It gave her a start of joy. She smiled back at him and then blushed. That made her angry. She was always angry at herself for blushing because it gave her away. Her defense was to look at him steadily and that made him self-conscious again. She had discovered that when his thoughts were dynamically engaged, or when his mind was intended to action, instantly all awkwardness left him. Then he was graceful unawares, as children and animals are, never thinking of themselves. She could not bear to see him fidget.
“You don’t seem to care,” she said.
“He bears down hard on you, don’t he, Enoch?” he asked.
“His nature is hard,” she said.
“Maybe you was cuttin’ it an’ here I brought you home. Ain’t that so?”
“No,” she said.
He came half way across the room and regarded her earnestly.
“If that’s it, it ain’t too late now. I’ll take you anywhere you want.” As she did not answer, he added: “Jus take ’n leave you there so’s you need never see me again.”