She headed diagonally across the field to that point in the woods which was nearest his camp. She could walk but slowly because the ground was so rough, old corn land that had been allowed to go to grass with the hills unharrowed. She would not look back until she was nearly across. A man's figure was rising over the swell of the field behind her. Anxiety attacked her. Suppose it was not Don but somebody who had followed her down the road. What would Don do? She dreaded to hear the sounds of a struggle. Don could take care of himself of course, but it would be the end of their secret. So well had that secret been kept that not one of all the searchers at Broome's Point now suspected that Don was still on the estate. Pen waited alongside the fence that bounded the far side of the field. It was Don, so her anxiety was relieved on that score. But he did not come to her. A few yards away he leaned back with his elbows on the top rail of the fence and gazed out across the moonlit field, making a perfect silhouette of masculine soreness. "I brought you some supper," ventured Pen. "Thanks," he said ungraciously. "Won't you eat?" "Not hungry, thanks." "What's the matter?" she asked with a touch of defiance. She could not be meek, even with him. "You spoke to me like a dog!" he burst out. "Down Fido!" "I'm sorry," she murmured. "But you startled me so. You see I was thinking maybe someone was following me in the road." "I just went a little way to meet you," he grumbled. "Nice welcome I got!" Having said she was sorry, Pen could not humble herself further. She remained silent. "I suppose you're thinking I'm a thankless beast," he went on presently. "No," said Pen. "Well I am!" he said. "I appreciate what you do for me. Good God, that's just the trouble. You heap favors on me! You've got me on the rack!" They had been over this so often! "Well, I'm sick of it, too," Pen burst out as bitterly as he. "You're always trying to make out that I do things for you just to make you feel inferior! I hate to be benevolent. I never am. But what else could I do under the circumstances? Or you? Why can't you take it for granted?" "You mean you'd do as much for anybody?" "Certainly." This of course in his perfect inconsistency, hurt him worse than what had gone before. He dug his chin into his breast and relapsed into silence. Pen yearned over him. She loved him so for his male roughness, his wrongheadedness, his school-boy pride. He was so absolutely different from herself, both weaker and stronger. It was circumstances which had given her the advantage over him; he was in a false position. She exulted in it a little however she might protest to the contrary. It is sweet to have the ascendancy, even in love. And she could dimly foresee other circumstances in which she would be most terribly at his mercy. She made overtures. "I'm hungry," she said.