"I have some in my pocket, thanks."
"No. Talapus cigars at Talapus. That's the rule."
"If you insist on it." He lit a cigar, finding to his relief that it was very good indeed. "Well, Miss McCrae, I must say your hospitality goes the full limit. I'm rather overwhelmed by it."
"What nonsense! Supper, a cigar—that's not very burdensome surely."
"It's the way things are, of course," he explained. "I'm not blind. I know what you were thinking about—what you are thinking now."
"I doubt it, Mr. Farwell."
"Yes, I do. You are wondering how I have the nerve to eat your food and smoke your tobacco when I'm here on this irrigation job."
It was her thought stripped naked. She made a little gesture, scarcely deprecatory. Why protest when he had guessed so exactly?
"I'm glad you don't feel called on to lie politely," said Farwell. "I'm pretty outspoken myself. I don't blame you at all. I merely want to point out that if I weren't on this job some one else would be. You see that. I'm just earning my living."
She was silent. He went on: