"If you're going to make company of me, I shall go hungry until to-morrow." From a wooden safe in the corner Molly brought a plate and a cup, and made a place for the young man at the end of the red-and-white cloth on the table.

Then she turned away, without speaking, and sat down behind the tin coffeepot, which emitted a fragrant steam.
"Cream and sugar ?" she inquired presently, meeting his eyes over the glass lamp which stood midway between them.
Gay had been talking to Reuben about the roads--"jolly bad roads," he called them, "wasn't it possible to make them decent for riding ?" Looking up at the girl's question, he answered absently, "two lumps.
Cream?
Yes, please, a little," and then continued to stare at her with a vague and impersonal wonder.

She was half savage, of course, with red hands, and bad manners and dressed like a boy that had got into skirts for a joke--but, by George, there was something about her that bit into the fancy.

Not a beauty like his Europa of the pasture (who was, when it came to that ?)--but a fascinating little beggar, with a quality of sudden surprises that he could describe by no word except "iridescent." He liked the high arch of her brows; but her nose wasn't good and her lips were too thin except when she smiled.

When she smiled! It was her smile, after all, that made her seem a thing of softness and bloom born to be kissed.
Reuben ate his food rapidly, pouring his coffee into the saucer, and drinking it in loud gulps that began presently to make Gay feel decidedly nervous.