“Go easy with my ears, Ruth,” he said, disengaging her arms.  “They were nipped the other night and are still tender.  How did you get here?  I thought you were in Kennard.”

He led her back to her seat and began to remove his cap and long sheep-lined overcoat, saying in an undertone that the weather was really too warm for the things.  Afterward he posted himself by the stove near her, where he stuffed his pipe with tobacco and began to smoke, while his eyes considered her face.

“Imo and I returned to Sarita Creek yesterday,” she remarked, with an air of satisfaction.  “It was good to be back, too.  There has been so much going on at Kennard that I felt quite worn out; one becomes weary of too much buzzing around.  I don’t want any more of it for some time.  And I missed you dreadfully, Lee!” She flashed up a smile at him, caught his hand for an instant, and gave it a squeeze.  A thin stream of smoke issued from one corner of Bryant’s mouth at the action.  “The people were proving somewhat tiresome also.  So as the weather had moderated Imogene and I decided to return to our cabins.”

“Has she recovered from her cold?” Lee inquired, raising his look to the ceiling.

“Oh, yes; entirely.  And we’re quite comfortable.  We had even thought of having our ponies brought from the stable at Bartolo, so that we could ride if it grew still milder.”

“Risky.”

“Well, you’re probably right.”  She paused and scrutinized her toes to see that they were not scorching.  “Charlie brought Imo and me here on his way home; you can take us back to our cabins when we’re ready to go.”

“Imo here?” Bryant’s eyebrows lifted.

“Over in the shack Dave called ‘the hospital.’  Dave was here when we came and Imo asked him to take her to the place; she had heard something of an injured man from Louise Graham.  Did Louise really help during an operation?” Lee nodded.  “Well, she’s odd in many ways.  Must be—­what shall I say?—­a little thick-skinned not to mind blood and all the rest of it.  And she doesn’t go about much; not at all with the real crowd at Kennard, only with a slow one when she does go.  With her father well off, I’d think she would want to be doing something worth while.  Charlie’s still mad for her, but Gretzie thought after he met her at our cabins that she was too self-conceited.  When he asked her if the men of New York, compared with Western men, didn’t impress her with superiority and smartness of dress, she said, ’Not those of my acquaintance; they don’t try to impress one; it isn’t done in their circle, you know.  That’s one of the differences in manners, I suppose, that distinguishes Fifth Avenue from Broadway.’  Gretzie was furious.  He had been speaking of Broadway shows and restaurants and things at the time.  He declared later that a little attention had turned her head, and that what she had said was all rot.  I don’t care for her, either.  But let us talk of ourselves, Lee.”