I am pretty tired," she said in that soft, drawly voice that could hide so effectually her meaning.

She leaned her head against the wall and gave a luxurious sigh, and crossed her feet the other way.

She believed that she knew why Robert Grant Burns was growing so red in the face and stepping about so uneasily, and why the women were looking at her like that.

Very likely they expected her to prove herself crude and uncivilized, but she meant to disappoint them even while she made them all the trouble she could.
She pushed back her hat until its crown rested against the rough boards, and cuddled the little brown bird against her cheek again, and talked to it caressingly.

Though she seemed unconscious of his presence, she heard every word that Robert Grant Burns was muttering to himself.