Tessie tried some of her old-time pertness of speech.  “Oh, good enough, considerin’ the company.”

He laughed, admiringly, at that and said she was a card.

When the early evening came on they made a clumsy landing and had supper.  This time Nap fed her the titbits, though she protested.  “White meat for you,” he said, “with your skin like milk.”

“You must of read that in a book,” scoffed Tessie.  She glanced around her at the deepening shadows.  “We haven’t got much time.  It gets dark so early.”

“No hurry,” Nap assured her.  He went on eating in a leisurely, finicking sort of way, though he consumed very little food actually.

“You’re not eating much,” Tessie said once, half-heartedly.  She decided that she wasn’t having such a very grand time, after all, and that she hated his teeth, which were very bad.  Now, Chuck’s strong, white double row ...

“Well,” she said, “let’s be going.”

“No hurry,” again.

Tessie looked up at that with the instinctive fear of her kind.  “What d’you mean, no hurry!  ’Spect to stay here till dark?” She laughed at her own joke.

“Yes.”

She got up then, the blood in her face.  “Well, I don’t.”

He rose, too.  “Why not?”

“Because I don’t, that’s why.”  She stooped and began picking up the remnants of the lunch, placing spoons and glass bottles swiftly and thriftily in the lunch box.  Nap stepped around behind her.

“Let me help,” he said.  And then his arm was about her and his face was close to hers, and Tessie did not like it.  He kissed her after a little wordless struggle.  And then she knew.  Tessie’s lips were not virgin.  She had been kissed before.  But not like this.  Not like this!  She struck at him furiously.  Across her mind flashed the memory of a girl who had worked in the finishing room.  A nice girl, too.  But that hadn’t helped her.  Nap Ballou was laughing a little as he clasped her.

At that she heard herself saying:  “I’ll get Chuck Mory after you—­you drunken bum, you!  He’ll lick you black and blue.  He’ll ...”

The face, with the ugly, broken brown teeth, was coming close again.  With all the young strength that was in her she freed one hand and clawed at that face from eyes to chin.  A howl of pain rewarded her.  His hold loosened.  Like a flash she was off.  She ran.  It seemed to her that her feet did not touch the earth.  Over brush, through bushes, crashing against trees, on and on.  She heard him following her, but the broken-down engine that was his heart refused to do the work.  She ran on, though her fear was as great as before.  Fear of what might have happened ... to her, Tessie Golden ... that nobody could even talk fresh to.  She gave a little sob of fury and fatigue.  She was stumbling now.  It was growing dark.  She ran on again, in fear of the overtaking darkness.  It was easier now.  Not so many trees and bushes.  She came to a fence, climbed over it, lurched as she landed, leaned against it weakly for support, one hand on her aching heart.  Before her was the Hatton summer cottage, dimly outlined in the twilight among the trees.  A warm, flickering light danced in the window.