They walked slowly along the country road, under the arch of the trees, through the branches of which the sun sent long, slanting rays of light. There was a colored haze over the leafless orchards, and the hills were freshly green from the rains.
"Well, I've got a job promised as soon as school is over," said Paul.
"What kind of job?" she asked.
"Working at the depot. It pays fifteen a month to start," he replied. It was as if they were uttering poetry. The words did not matter. What they said did not matter.
"That's fine," she said. "I wish I had a job."
"Gee, I hate to see a girl go to work," said Paul.
His lips were full and very firm. When he set them tightly, as he did then, he looked determined. There was something obstinate about the line of his chin and the slight frown between his heavy black brows. Her whole nature seemed to melt and flow toward him.
"I don't see why!" she flashed. "A girl like me has to work if she's going to get anywhere. I bet I could do as well as a boy if I had a chance."
The words were like a defensive armor between her and her real desire. She did not want to work. She wanted to be soft and pretty, tempting and teasing and sweet. She wanted to win the things she desired by tears and smiles and coaxing. But she did not know how.
Paul looked at her admiringly. He said, "I guess you could, all right. You're pretty smart for a girl."