“Afraid? Oh, how absurd—how very absurd!” They had reached a spring which flowed from a great bed of rocks in the side of a rugged hill. He pointed to a flat stone quite near it. “Do you remember the first time I ever had a talk with you? It was while we were seated on this rock.”
She recalled it, but only nodded her head.
“It was a year ago,” he went on. “You had on a pink dress and wore your hair like a little girl, in a plait down your back. Cynthia, you were the prettiest creature I had ever seen. I could hardly talk to you for wondering over your dazzling beauty. You are even more beautiful now; you have ripened physically and mentally—grown to be a wonderful woman.”
He sat down on the stone, still holding to her hand, and drawing her toward him.
She hesitated, looking back toward Baker’s cottage.
“Sit down, little girl,” he entreated her. “I’m tired. I’ve worked hard all day at the store, and that corn-shucking wasn’t the best thing to taper off on.”
She hesitated an instant longer, and then allowed him to draw her down beside him.
“There, now,” he said, “that’s more like it.” He still held her hand; it lay warm, pulsating and helpless in his strong grasp.
“Do you know why I did not kiss you back there?” he asked suddenly.
“I don’t know why you didn’t, but it was good of you,” she answered.