car crawled forward, following the smaller between stumps and around through the brakes until it was again in the road.
"You're not headed for Pancake now," Helen said when the motors stopped. "It's the other way, but you can turn around if you're careful not to cut through the sod."
"You'll let me pay for this, of course."
Marcia produced her purse, but Helen would not accept money, though Marcia was insistent.
"Well, it was very kind of you, anyhow. You'll take my thanks, won't you?
"Perhaps the person I am looking for is not just in Pancake; that is his address, but there's a mill somewhere near here?"
"Yes, on a little further."
"I'm looking for a Mr. Taylor. Do you know of him?"
Helen eyed Marcia with a new interest. "I'm working for Mr. Taylor and I am going to talk with him as soon as I get home. He will be at my house."
"Oh"—rather slowly. "How much further is that?"
"Not far. If you want to you can follow me—"
"That's very kind of you," icily.
Marcia was appraising this woman, now, as her identity seeped into understanding, and the personal inadequacy she had felt gave way to its sister emotion: resentment. It was with this girl John was working, it was to her he had referred with such significant repression in his letters. Marcia's flush came back as she followed the rattling Ford over the swells and into Foraker's Folly.
At the door of her own house Helen stopped and got down.
