Snowden agreed with her. He became personal, confiding, insinuated even that his marriage had been a mistake--of ignorance and youth. Milly, who was otherwise sympathetic, thought this was not nice of him, even if Mrs. Snowden was pudgy and common and old. A woman gave so much, she felt, in marriage that she should be insured against her defects.... Snowden said that he was living for his children. Milly thought that quite right and tried to turn the conversation. The horse looked around as if to ask how much farther his master meant to go over this rough country road. It was getting late and the sun was sinking towards the flat prairie. Milly began to feel unaccountably worried and suggested turning back. Instead the man cut the horse with his whip so that he shot forward down the narrow road. The buggy rocked and swayed, while Milly clung to the side. Snowden looked at her and smiled triumphantly. His face came nearer hers. Milly thought it handsome, but it was unpleasantly flushed, and Milly drew away. Suddenly she found herself in the grasp of her companion's free arm. He was whispering things into her ear. "You make me mad--I--" "Don't, Mr. Snowden,--please, please don't!" Milly cried, struggling. The horse stopped altogether and looked around at them. "Let me go!" she cried. But now abandoning the lines he held her in both his arms, his hot breath was close to her face, his lips seeking hers. Then she bit him,--bit him so hard with her firm teeth that he drew away with a cry, loosening his grip. She wriggled out of his embrace and scrambled to the ground before he knew what she was doing and began to run down the road. Snowden gathered up the lines and followed after her, calling,--"Milly, Milly--Miss Ridge," in a penitent, frightened voice. For some time she paid no attention until he shouted,--"You'll never get anywhere that way!" The buggy was abreast of her now. "Do get in! I won't--touch you." She turned upon him with all the fire of her youth. "You--a respectable man--with a wife--and my father's friend--you!" "Yes, I know," he said, like a whipped dog. "But don't run off--I'll get out and let you drive back alone." There was a cart coming on slowly behind them. Milly marched past the buggy haughtily and walked towards it. Snowden followed close behind, pleading, apologizing. She knew that he was afraid she would speak to the driver of the cart, and despised him. "Milly, don't," he groaned. She walked stiffly by the cart, whose driver eyed the scene with a slow grin. She paid no attention, however, to Snowden's entreaties. She was secretly proud of herself for her magnanimity in not appealing to the stranger, for the manner in which she was conducting herself. But after a mile or so, it became quite dark and she felt weary. She stumbled, sat down beside the road. The buggy stopped automatically.