He lifted
his head and looked at her.
'Others gone to bed, have they?' he asked.
But she remained closed in silence.
''S a cold night, out,' he said, as if to himself.
And he laid his large, yet well-shapen workman's hand on the top of the
stove, that was polished black and smooth as velvet. She would not look
at him, yet she glanced out of the corners of her eyes.
His eyes were fixed brightly on her, the pupils large and electric like
those of a cat.
'I should have picked you out among thousands,' he said. 'Though you're
bigger than I'd have believed. Fine flesh you've made.'
She was silent for some time. Then she turned in her chair upon him.
'What do you think of yourself,' she said, 'coming back on me like this
after over fifteen years? You don't think I've not heard of you, neither,
in Butte City and elsewhere?'
He was watching her with his clear, translucent, unchallenged eyes.
'Yes,' he said. 'Chaps comes an' goes--I've heard tell of you from time
to time.'
She drew herself up.
'And what lies have you heard about _me_?' she demanded superbly.
'I dunno as I've heard any lies at all--'cept as you was getting on very
well, like.'
His voice ran warily and detached. Her anger stirred again in her
violently. But she subdued it, because of the danger there was in him,
and more, perhaps, because of the beauty of his head and his level drawn
brows, which she could not bear to forfeit.
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