“Come here!” yelled Joe. “I want to talk to yer.”
“Talk from there,” screamed Hepsey.
“Where's yer folks?”
“D'know.”
“Say, be they courtin'?”
Hepsey left her work in the garden and came toward the front of the house. “They walk out some,” she said, when she was halfway to the gate, “and they set up a good deal, and Miss Thorne told me she didn't know as she'd do better, but you can't rightly say they're courtin' 'cause city ways ain't like our'n.”
The deep colour dyed Ruth's face and her hands twitched nervously. Winfield very much desired to talk, but could think of nothing to say. The situation was tense.
Joe clucked to his horses. “So long,” he said. “See yer later.”
Ruth held her breath until he passed them, and then broke down. Her self control was quite gone, and she sobbed bitterly, in grief and shame. Winfield tucked his handkerchief into her cold hands, not knowing what else to do.
“Don't!” he said, as if he, too, had been hurt. “Ruth, dear, don't cry!”