Her face was still crimson and she avoided looking at me. “We can go now,” she said.

“What about the car?”

“It’s all right. We don’t have to take it.”

“He didn’t pay you anything. What are you going to tell Harshaw?”

“Please,” she said. She was very near to crying.

“O.K.,” I said, and we got in. It was her funeral. She ran the loan office and it was her business and Harshaw’s, not mine. I backed up and turned the car into the road while Sutton watched us from the porch and grinned.

We were almost back to the river before she said anything. “Maybe I’d better tell him,” she said hesitantly. “Mr. Harshaw, I mean.”

“It’s your baby,” I said. “Tell him anything you want.”

“I—I know it must look a little funny, Mr. Madox.”

“Is Sutton a relative of yours?”

“No.”

“Well, a hundred and ten dollars is a lot of money.”

She glanced at me and said nothing. She either had to pay those two car notes herself or juggle the books to make it look as if they’d been paid, and she knew that I knew it. When we came to the bridge over the river I pulled off the road under the trees and stopped. She didn’t say a word, but when I turned to her, she was watching me a little uneasily. I put my arm around her and bent her head back. She didn’t struggle or try to slap me. She didn’t do anything. It was like kissing a passed-out drunk. I let go and she drew away from me as far as she could. She didn’t look at me. I put a hand under her chin and turned it.

“Get with it, kid,” I said. “Sutton sent me.”

I could see the shame and distaste in her eyes. “You must be proud of yourself.”

“We could still go back and repossess the car,” I said.

She didn’t answer.

“Or we could go in and tell Harshaw he wouldn’t let us have it. That ought to be good for a laugh.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“You never get anywhere if you don’t try.”

“Well, would you mind driving on, or shall I get out?”

“You’re a cute kid. How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Why’re you afraid of Sutton?”

She blushed and looked out the window. “I’m not.”

“Cut it out, blondie. How’d he get on your back?”

“It’s—it’s nothing. You’re just imagining it.”

“The way you imagined you saw him down at the spring? And collected the car notes?”

“All right, all right,” she said desperately.