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 The people here don’t like me…. They don’t want me here. They think I am—you know what they think…. I mustn’t do anything to make it worse. It would be harder for Uncle Dave.”

“You’ve got to stand up for yourself. You can’t let folks trample all over you. But, of course, it isn’t gentlemanly to fight, and folks would say you were rough and rowdy, and they’d complain about you, and maybe you’d get into trouble…. No, I s’pose you better not, unless you can’t help it… but what if Mal should yell at you on the street like he did once?”

“Then,” said Angus, and his chin gave emphasis to his words, “I’d lick him.”

During the silence which ensued both watched the approach of a young man, his face indistinct in the darkness. He paused a moment at the gate as though undecided whether to enter, and Lydia recognized him. It was Malcolm Crane…. It was a minor shock, a thrill. Here was a situation and she proceeded to dramatize it—the meeting of the enemies! It was exciting.

Young Crane mounted the porch to encounter a Lydia stiff and forbidding.

“Lydia,” he said awkwardly, “I thought I’d come in. I, well, I thought maybe you’d got over—”

“Got over what?” she asked shortly.