"I guess Mrs. Shafter would give you supper?"
Mrs. Farquhar said that she had done so, and Lucy smiled.
"That's going to save some trouble. Mavy and I had ours together most an hour ago and the stove's out by now."
Thorne imagined that this intimation, which struck him as a trifle superfluous, was made with a deliberate purpose; but one of the binder horses, tormented by the flies, began to kick just then, and he turned away to quiet it, while Lucy, who stood beside the wagon, smiled provocatively at Alison.
"You'll have to excuse Mavy—he's been hustling round since sunup, and he's played out," she said. "Still, you needn't get anxious. I'll look after him."
Mrs. Farquhar laughed, while Alison's attitude grew distinctly prim. She considered that in taking her anxiety for granted and alluding to it openly Lucy had gone too far. She also felt inclined to resent the girl's last consolatory assurance.
"Can I drive you home?" Mrs. Farquhar inquired. "I suppose you will be going soon, and it won't make a very big round."
"No," replied Lucy decisively, "you needn't trouble. I've a horse here, and I guess Mavy's not going to make love to me. For one thing, he's too busy. Besides, I want to cut round that other side before I go."
"Then I suppose we had better not keep you," said Mrs. Farquhar.
She waved her hand to Thorne and drove away, and when they had left the oats behind she turned to Alison.