Marcia sniffed. "You're the first person I've met today who wasn't sure, so perhaps you are right"
Her haughty manner did not impress this girl in the khaki skirt and laced boots, Marcia perceived. She experienced misgiving as though this other disapproved of her and as though that disapproval mattered. She was not accustomed to being made uncomfortable by the opinions of strangers. The flush in her face mounted as she watched Helen, who had dropped to her knees to look under the stalled car.
"You're in deep, but I think I can get you out."
"You can get help?"
"I could, but it isn't necessary. Let me take a pull on your car."
"With that?" looking disdainfully at the rattle-trap roadster.
"Yes."
Helen went to her and came back with a shovel. She did not look at Marcia and said nothing and this further nettled the girl. She stood back, however, smoothing the skirt over her hips, and watched Helen shovel sand and turf from about the rear wheels. She did the work quickly and without any evident effort or awkwardness.
"There"—drawing off her gloves and shaking sand from them. "Now we'll try."
A rope was forthcoming from the box on her car. She backed in close and made it fast.
"Start your motor," she said. "I think the two of us can manage it."
The engine sputtered, the gear of the Ford whined, the slack came out of the rope, the big car bellowed, both sets of driving wheels tore at the earth and the heavy
