He added, reflectively-- "That sort of thing becomes expensive.

Don't you find it so ?" "I would defy anybody to sell me a thing I didn't want," she replied.
"Ah, that," said he with a glance of wistful admiration, "that is because you have red hair." If any other strange male had talked about her hair, Zora Middlemist would have drawn herself up in Junoesque majesty and blighted him with a glance.
She had done with men and their compliments forever.

In that she prided herself on her Amazonianism.

But she could not be angry with the inconclusive being to whom she was talking.

As well resent the ingenuous remarks of a four-year-old child.
"What has my red hair to do with it ?" she asked pleasantly.
"It was a red-haired man who sold me the dentist's chair." "Oh!" said Zora, nonplussed.
There was a pause.