Pete, aware of it, nodded at her and grinned.

He felt proud.
"Mag, yer a bloomin' good-looker," he remarked, studying her face through the haze.

The men made Maggie fear, but she blushed at Pete's words as it became apparent to her that she was the apple of his eye.
Grey-headed men, wonderfully pathetic in their dissipation, stared at her through clouds.

Smooth-cheeked boys, some of them with faces of stone and mouths of sin, not nearly so pathetic as the grey heads, tried to find the girl's eyes in the smoke wreaths.

Maggie considered she was not what they thought her.