“It's you that are unstable! You talk at things and play at things, but you're scared. Would I mind it if you and I went off to poverty, and I had to dig ditches? I would not! But you would. I think you would come to like me, but you won't admit it. I wouldn't have said this, but when you sneer at Myrtle and the mill——If I'm not to have good sensible things like those, d' you think I'll be content with trying to become a damn dressmaker, after YOU? Are you fair? Are you?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Do you like me? Do you?”
“Yes——No! Please! I can't talk any more.”
“Not here. Mrs. Haydock is looking at us.”
“No, nor anywhere. O Erik, I am fond of you, but I'm afraid.”
“What of?”
“Of Them! Of my rulers—Gopher Prairie. . . . My dear boy, we are talking very foolishly. I am a normal wife and a good mother, and you are—oh, a college freshman.”
“You do like me! I'm going to make you love me!”
She looked at him once, recklessly, and walked away with a serene gait that was a disordered flight.