He was an engaging talker, with a peculiar knack of suggestion in story-telling--an unconscious halting and elusiveness that told more than words could express--and, knowing his West so well, he fascinated the girl, who hung upon his tales with flattering eagerness.
Poleon had finished several pipes, and now sat in the shadows in the open doorway, apparently tired and dejected, though his eyes shone like diamonds and roved from one to the other.

Half unconsciously he heard Stark saying: "This girl was about your size, but not so dark.

However, you remind me of her in some ways--that's why it puts her in my mind, I suppose.

She was about your age at the time--nineteen." "Oh, I'm not eighteen yet," said Necia.
"Well, she was a fine woman, anyhow, the best that ever set foot in Chandon, and there was a great deal of talk when she chose young Bennett over the Gaylord man, for Bennett had been running second best from the start, and everybody thought it was settled between her and the other one.

However, they were married quietly." The story did not interest the Canadian; his mind was in too great agitation to care for dead tales; his heart burned within him too fiercely, and he felt too great a desire to put his hands to work.