Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. “Please stop fighting me. Lucy blushed from toes to forehead, feeling her pace accelerate. Now do you see his motive?" "I see nothing but your danger," replied his mother, tenderly. “I wouldn’t.
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