But finally dusk began to gather. Flo went slowly to the cabin, with a lingering stare over the lake. The sun was down behind the black hummock of the hill, far down the valley. A very pale rose stain was left, though most of the sky was grey-blue and dove-grey with lavender suggestions in the south. But on the water all these colours seemed run together with silver. Flo thought that a terribly dear piece of shot-silk might have looked the same; real Japanese silk it would have to have been. And even then, of course, it couldn’t have given quite the same effect of cleanness and quietness. Bert was in the little bay collecting the boats. He looked all black, and the boats looked black, but the ripples that went off from round them caught the light and showed in fascinating transient silver lines and curves. Flo stopped. It was the only time all day that she had had time to watch. Now all the boats were tied together, and Bert, standing up, began to pole the little flotilla towards the boathouse. He disappeared into its shadow as if he had, all at once, been obliterated, but the tail boats stopped and waited patiently outside. She remembered that Bert had promised to take her on the lake, and she wondered if she might go now; it would be lovely to be afloat on silk; and the willows and woods all round, with the hills behind, looked mysterious and ghosty. She imagined putting her hand over-side and feeling the delicious smoothness of silk and immediately laughed at herself. Of course, how foolish! It would simply be cold and wet. She shrugged and turned back to the cabin.
Filled with the sheen of light held on the water, her eyes were at first baffled by the gloom. She shut her lids and waited just inside. A movement, felt rather than seen, made her start violently. An arm came round her from the right, from behind the door, and she felt herself losing balance. She swayed half right, half backward, and was enclosed helplessly by a second arm. A hand shut clumsily on her left breast and hot wet lips smothered her mouth. There was an ale taste, the smell of strange unpleasant breath. She stared for an instant into grey eyes with whites flecked yellow and pink, and then felt herself released. Her flung-out hand caught the side wall. She saved herself from falling only by effort. She had not even cried out, the attack had been so adroit and unexpected. Now she saw the young man grinning satisfaction. His cap was on his head back, the peak standing up, a cloth halo, with a few streaks of black hair radiating from beneath it on a pale forehead.
“One back for swiping me on the napper,” he said, panting a little.
She stared, quivering and wary. If he came again she would slap her hardest and cry out. But something in his grinning manner prevented her; a simplicity, perhaps. As she stood fronting him she realized that there was no depth in him; he had acted as a child acts, from impulse, without thought. He had been there and she had almost walked into his arms. Yet it must not happen again.
“I’ll tell Mrs. Nadin,” she threatened quickly.
“Gimme another,” he invited. “No reason why we should fall out . . . no reason at all.”
“Get out,” ordered Flo, “or I’ll shout.”
“Why shout? Shout nothin’,” he urged intently. “Have a drink.”
“Get out,” she repeated, more confident.
“You don’t think I really minded? Have a drink. You’re a proper lass. It’s good . . . you . . .”
“If you don’t go I shall run and tell,” said Flo insistently. “She’ll not have you again. And if I tell Mister Bert, he’ll . . .”
“Him!” exclaimed the young man scornfully. “You’re a bloody bright one . . . I offer you good beer an’ . . . an’ . . . Here, I say, let’s have a bit o’ real good.”
His hand groped for the front of his trousers and he began to unbutton. For a second she was at a loss. Then all at once she went tight all over with revulsion. Then her only impulse was escape. She turned and ran. She ran to the house because of its nearness. There was a light in the front right window, and she was aware of men at the table, though only dimly, as if they, were all completely strange. In the passage her flight was checked by the clatter her boots made on the flagging. It sounded foolish and unnecessary, for there had been no pursuit. She slowed to walking, but she had reached the kitchen before the impulse to get away from her tormentor was expended. Mrs. Nadin glanced and saw her. At the table folding a cloth was Dot.
“What’s up?” demanded Mrs. Nadin promptly. “Where’s them pots?”
Flo was about to blurt out, but caught Dot staring curiously as if she had already guessed something. Gloating and superciliousness seemed together in her look, and Flo’s intention of confessing was abruptly quenched. She swallowed.
“Dunna stand gawpin’. What’s up?” demanded Mrs. Nadin.
“Nothing’,” said Flo, and turned back up the passage because she did not know what else to do.