"Vhat's wrong?" asked the astonished Max. "I must go. Don't come out with me. Wait a minute, and then follow. I'll be at the next corner up street. That's our Etta over there!" But Max did not seem fully to comprehend the warning. He rose with Mary, and made some stir in doing it, so that, as the pair reached the aisle, Etta's eyes were drawn in the direction of her sister and the man. Mary, though she hastily turned her head, thought that she saw recognition in this sudden glance. She thought that she saw recognition turn to amazement, and amazement to rebuke. Instantly, there rose before her the reefs of ultimate domestic disaster. With Max in close attendance, she hurried to the door. Outside she did not speak until they had reached the comparative seclusion of a less frequented street. Then she turned hotly upon the youth, whom she considered the cause of her peril. "Why was you such a fool?" she demanded. "Didn't you hear me say for you not to come out when I did?" "I didn't understand you," Max humbly expostulated. "But vhat difference does it make, anyvays?" "Difference? Why, you were so blamed noisy that Etta looked round an' seen me. She'll go straight home and tell pop I was here with you." "Vell," protested Max, "it's not seven o'clock yet, und I'm not eatin' you, vas I?" "That don't matter. You don't know my pop!" "Vhat'll he do?" "He'll"--Mary remembered previous punishments for smaller offenses, and recalled the judgment that she had heard her father pronounce on a hypothetical offender. "He'll beat me till I'm near dead," she declared; "an' then, like as not, he'll turn me out of the house." They were at pause in the shadow of an old buttonwood tree, Max leaning against the gnarled trunk, the girl facing him, erect. Even as she sketched her possible punishment, the possible became probable. She was afraid, and this young man, who had been so deferential, so protecting, who had given her so alluring a glimpse of another world, seemed her only refuge. He put out his hands and, gently, took both of hers. At that touch the last of her anger melted, almost to tears. "Look here," he said. "I've been decent to you, haven't I? I ain't tried to get fresh?" She shook her head, not trusting speech. "Vell, then, listen here," he pursued. "If your old man gets gay, chust remember _that_. You ain't treated righd at home, the best of times. You said so yourself. Un' this here jay town's no _place_ for a pretty young lady like you, anyvays. So, if there's any trouble, you come for me, und I'll get you avay from here."