"Please let us get it over first of all." Winston sat down at a table and scribbled on a strip of paper.

"That," he said gravely, "is what you owe me for the plowing." There was a little flush in his face as he took the check the girl filled in, and both felt somewhat grateful for the entrance of a man in blue jean with the tea.

It was of very indifferent quality, and he had sprinkled a good deal on the tray, but Winston felt a curious thrill as he watched the girl pour it out at the head of the bare table.

Her white dress gleamed in the light of a dusty window, and the shadowy cedar boarding behind her forced up each line of the shapely figure.
Again the maddening temptation took hold of him, and he wondered whether he had betrayed too much when he felt the elder lady's eyes upon him.

There was a tremor in his brown fingers as he took the cup held out to him, but his voice was steady.
"You can scarcely fancy how pleasant this is," he said.