The pressure of the encircling fingers was firm and honest, and Saxon thrilled to it.
There was magic in this man-boy.

She would have known only irritation had Bert or any other man felt her arm.

But this man! IS HE THE MAN?
she was questioning, when he voiced his conclusion.
"Your clothes don't weigh more'n seven pounds.

And seven from--hum--say one hundred an' twenty-three--one hundred an' sixteen is your stripped weight." But at the penultimate word, Mary cried out with sharp reproof: "Why, Billy Roberts, people don't talk about such things." He looked at her with slow-growing, uncomprehending surprise.
"What things ?" he demanded finally.
"There you go again! You ought to be ashamed of yourself.

Look! You've got Saxon blushing!" "I am not," Saxon denied indignantly.
"An' if you keep on, Mary, you'll have me blushing," Billy growled.