I stood here merely that I might observe the details more carefully." She glanced directly at him with suddenly aroused interest.
"You enjoy my work ?" she exclaimed, slightly smiling.

"How extremely droll! Yet without doubt you do, precisely as those others, out yonder, without the slightest conception of what it all means.
Probably you are equally interested in the delicate art of Mr.T.
Macready Lane ?" Winston permitted his cool gray eyes to brighten, his firmly set lips slightly to relax.
"Lane is the merest buffoon," he replied quietly.

"You are an artist.
There is no comparison possible, Miss Norvell.

The play itself is utterly unworthy of your talent, yet you succeed in dignifying it in a way I can never cease to admire." She stood staring straight at him, her lips parted, apparently so thoroughly startled by these unexpected words as to be left speechless.
"Why," she managed to articulate at last, her cheeks flushing, "I supposed you like the others we have had with us--just--just a common stage hand.

You speak with refinement, with meaning." "Have you not lived sufficiently long in the West to discover that men of education are occasionally to be found in rough clothing ?" "Oh, yes," doubtfully, her eyes still on his face, "miners, stockmen, engineers, but scarcely in your present employment." "Miss Norvell," and Winston straightened up, "possibly I may be employed here for a reason similar to that which has induced you to travel with a troupe of barn-stormers." She shrugged her shoulders, her lips smiling, the seductive dimple showing in her cheeks.
"And what was that ?" "The ambition of an amateur to attain a foothold upon the professional stage." "Who told you so ?" "Mr.Samuel Albrecht was guilty of the suggestion.
"It was extremely nice of him to discuss my motives thus freely with a stranger.