She moved away from his hold, and he let her go. "There's all the future," he said more quietly. "You'll love me by and by.... Ann, have you really the courage to go away from all that down there?" "Yes." "And the wisdom to keep our friendship to yourself?... It will be a terrible thing for both of us, if they know. I met your father this morning, on his way home, and I'd have spoken to him, if he had let me. I did speak and he cut me--he has neither forgotten nor forgiven." "What is it they've not forgotten or forgiven?" Ann asked earnestly. "Aunt Sue wouldn't tell me." Garvin told her what he had told Baird. Ann flamed scarlet. "There isn't any Penniman would have done that!" "And there's not a Westmore now who thinks it," Garvin said positively. "The thing's more than half a century old, but it's an insult your people will never forgive.... It's not going to matter to you, is it, now you know?" he added, for Ann looked so perturbed. "I never have believed it for a moment--or Edward either. I know he's terribly sorry for the quarrel, and ashamed that father let the thing rankle. It worries Ed. If it worries you, I'm sorry I told you." "It doesn't worry me," Ann said firmly. "It doesn't make the least difference to me--in the way I feel to you and Mr. Westmore--we had nothing to do with it, an' to hate an' hate is sickening. But I know how it is with my people. I think grandfather would almost kill me if he knew that we were friends. Even Aunt Sue would be fearful to me." She drew a quick nervous breath. "It makes me want to get away more than ever." "You shall go--I'll help you," Garvin promised. "But in the meantime I want to see you--I must. If I think of a safe way, you will meet me, won't you?" Ann thought of the thing that had added hurt to hurt, her father's pleasure in Sue. They had been painfully kind to her at dinner, and after the meal was over he had gone off with Sue, they two to talk together. "Yes," Ann said. "I'm not afraid. We're doing nothing wrong in liking each other." "I'll think of a way and write to you." She got up. "An' I must go now." Her lips quivered and set. "My father has gone with Aunt Sue--to walk around the farm--but they'll be coming back before supper." "I am afraid you must, dear. If I brought them down on you, I should never forgive myself.... I can go with you to where I met you." He went with her around to the back of the Crest, down the steep red-clay slope and into the shelter of the bushes. There he lifted her up and kissed her. "Ann!" he said. "Ann! I'm going to make you love me." Ann received his kiss more shyly, turned her cheek to it. She had emerged a little from wretchedness, and the quality that invites pursuit, that draws passion and gives sparingly in return, the quality with which Ann was plentifully endowed, was coming to the surface. She escaped from his hands without answer and with eyes down. XV AS WITH A CHILD