Dinner was served, and he fell to like a harvest hand. As he had
the habit, when he was very hungry, of stuffing his mouth far too
full for speech, she was free to carry out her little program of
encouraging talk and action. As she advanced from hesitating
compliment to flattery, to admiring glances, to lingering look,
she marveled at her facility. "I suppose ages and ages of dreadful
necessity have made it second nature to every woman, even the best
of us," reflected she. If he weren't a handsome, superior man she
might be finding it more difficult; also, no doubt the
surroundings, so romantic, so fitting as background for his
ruggedness, were helping her to dexterity and even enthusiasm.
It was amusing, how she deceived herself--for the harmless self-
deceptions of us chronic mummers are always amusing. The fact was,
this melting and inviting mood had far more of nature and
sincerity in it than there had been in her icy aloofness. Icy
aloofness, except in the heroines of aristocratic novels, is a
state of mind compatible only with extreme stupidity or with some
one of those organic diseases that sour the disposition. Never had
she been in such health as in that camp, never so buoyant, never
had merely being alive been so deliciously intoxicating; the
scratch he had made on her throat had healed in twenty-four hours,
had all but disappeared in seventy-two.
Pages:
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331