Part 4 (1/2)
”Do you smoke?” she asked, holding out a box of cigarettes.
”Yes; do you?”
”Yes.”
In the word was a clear defiance. She struck a match and held it towards him; then lighted her own cigarette.
Seated again, she stared into the fire, smoking slowly, but as his eyes remained fast on her the color crept upward into her cheeks, higher and brighter until she turned to meet the gaze that was on her and with a bite to the words asked:
”You don't approve of this, either?”
”Why, ma'am, I like to smoke.”
”But you stare at me as though I were committing a crime.”
”You see, you're the first good white woman I've ever seen smoke.”
”You--” She checked the question, looked at him and then eyed her cigarette critically.
”I don't suppose women out here do smoke, do they?”
”No, ma'am; not much.”
”And you men? You men who drink and smoke don't want the women to enjoy the same privilege?”
”That appears about it.”
She did not answer. He rose and looked down upon her. One tendril of her golden hair, like silk in texture, caressed her fine-grained cheek, delicately contrasted against its alluring color. He would have liked to press it closer to the skin with his fingers ... quite gently. But he said:
”I guess you and I don't understand each other very well, and, if we don't, it ain't any use in our talking further. As for advisin' you about your business....”
Jane blew on her ash.
”I just tried to show you how to start right, accordin' to my notion, and if it made you mad I'm sorry.
”After all, it don't make so much difference what other folks think of us. It's what we think of ourselves that counts most, but none of us can get clear away from the other _hombre's_ ideas.”
That twinkle crept back in to his eyes. Her little frame fairly bristled independence and self-sufficiency; it was in the pert set of her head, the poise of her square shoulders, the languid swinging of one small foot.
”I think that you think a lot of yourself, ma'am. That's more 'n most folks can say.”
She rose as he reached for his hat.
”I'm glad to have your opinion on the proportions of my job,” she said briefly, ”and for that I am glad that you came in.”
The oblique rebuke could not be misunderstood.
”I'm complimented,” he replied, and, although she looked frankly and impersonally up at him, she had a quick fear that despite her a.s.surance this man was leaving her with a strange feeling of inferiority, and when he went through the doorway into the night she was quite certain he was smiling merrily.