He was Casey Ryan, and his heart was soft to suffering even though a little of the spell cast by the woman's blue eyes and her golden hair had dimmed for him.
He still thought her a beautiful woman who was terribly mismated, but he felt vaguely that women with beautiful golden hair should not drink their coffee aloud, or calmly turn up the bottom of their skirts that they might use the underside of the hem for a napkin after eating bacon.

I do not like to mention this; Casey did not like to think of it, either.

It was with reluctance that he reflected upon the different standard imposed by sex.

A man, for instance, might wipe his fingers on his pants and look the world straight in the eye,--but dog-gone it, when a lady's a lady, she ought to _be_ a lady.
Later Casey forgot for a time the incident of the luncheon on Red Lake.
With infinite labor and much patience he finally extricated himself and the show people, with no assistance from them save encouragement.

He towed them to dry land, untied and put away his rope and then discovered that he had not the heart to drive on at his usual hurtling pace and leave them to follow.