"And what is that?"
"If you don't know I won't tell you. Never mind about me. Tell me about yourself."
"Myself? Oh, I've just been living on the ranch."
She considered him gravely, and he stared back. Whatever she saw, he found her decidedly good to look upon, not only because of her eyes and hair and clear, satiny skin, but because of the lithe, clean-run shape of her, which he admired as he would that of a horse, or an athlete's in training. She broke the silence abruptly.
"Do you know what my trunk weighs?"
He glanced back at it, shaking his head. "No. It's riding all right there."
"Do you know what I weigh?"
"Perhaps a hundred and thirty."
"Ten pounds more. And the trunk weighs more than two hundred."
"Well, what about it?" Angus asked, puzzled.