Do look for a comfortable chair, Colin, and you may smoke if you want to.' 'This is good enough,' and he settled himself after his own fashion at Lady Bridget's feet with his back against the veranda post and his long legs sprawling over the steps.
Lady Bridget leaned out of the depths of her deep canvas chair and offered him her cigarette case.
He eyed it in amused criticism--the dull gold of the case, and the initials in diamonds, sapphires and rubies set diagonally across it.
'YOUR writing ?' Again the faint pink rose in her paleness.
'No, it's the writing of the person who gave it to me.' 'Was it a man ?' he asked bluntly.
Bridget looked at him with slight haughtiness.
'Really, Mr McKeith, I think you are--inquisitive.' 'Yes, I am.

And I've Bush manners--not up to your form.

Please excuse my impertinence.' 'I don't mind Bush manners.

They're--rather refreshing sometimes....
But'-- again extending and then half-withdrawing her offering hand.
'You'd despise my cigarettes ?' He made an eager movement.
'No I shouldn't.

Choose me one, won't you--two--if I may have one to keep.' 'Why to keep ?' She selected two of the dainty gold-tipped cigarettes, and he received them almost as if they had been sacred symbols.