"He won't lose me."
"Oh, you'll be married, Milly, 'fore you know it."
She shook her head.
"Not until I meet the right man," she said, and she explained volubly her lofty ideals of matrimony.
Snowden agreed with her. He became personal, confiding, insinuated even that his marriage had been a mistake—of ignorance and youth. Milly, who was otherwise sympathetic, thought this was not nice of him, even if Mrs. Snowden was pudgy and common and old. A woman gave so much, she felt, in marriage that she should be insured against her defects.... Snowden said that he was living for his children. Milly thought that quite right and tried to turn the conversation.
The horse looked around as if to ask how much farther his master meant to go over this rough country road. It was getting late and the sun was sinking towards the flat prairie. Milly began to feel unaccountably worried and suggested turning back. Instead the man cut the horse with his whip so that he shot forward down the narrow road. The buggy rocked and swayed, while Milly clung to the side. Snowden looked at her and smiled triumphantly. His face came nearer hers. Milly thought it handsome, but it was unpleasantly flushed, and Milly drew away.
Suddenly she found herself in the grasp of her companion's free arm. He was whispering things into her ear.
"You make me mad—I—"
"Don't, Mr. Snowden,—please, please don't!" Milly cried, struggling.
The horse stopped altogether and looked around at them.