"You'll be cold," she said.
"No, it's a hot night," he answered.

"I'm too hot as it is." And he loosened his heavy red shirt at the throat.
"If I've got to go to bed in half an hour," she said presently, "tell me more about your Aunt Samantha, and about yourself, and your home before you came out here, and what you did when you were a little boy--tell me everything about yourself." She was forgetting Tralee for the moment, and the man who raised his hand against her yesterday, and the life she had lived.

Or was it only that she had grown young during these last two months, and the young can so easily forget! "You want to hear?
You really want to hear ?" he asked.

"Say, it won't be a very interesting story.

Better let me tell you about the broncho-busting today." "No, I want to hear about yourself." She looked intently at him for an instant, and then her eyes closed and the long lashes touched her cheek.
There was something very wilful in her beauty, and her body too had delicate, melancholy lines strange in one so young.