"Would you please pass the mustard?" she had to say; and the ice was broken.
"Pretty place, Bex," he remarked. So she had conjectured rightly.
"Rather shut in," she observed, brightening.
"Well, yes. One would not care to stay too long. I'm going higher."
"So are we in two or three days."
She gave another glance, and met a pair of good grey eyes bent upon herself. A good face too; not exactly handsome, but she liked it.
"I thought at first that you were a foreigner," she remarked.
"Properly speaking, we are both foreigners here." When he smiled, no question existed as to his good looks. The whole face changed. It reminded Doris of somebody—or something. "May I ask why you took me for a 'foreigner'?"
"Only because you bowed. We English don't generally, you know,—till we have begun an acquaintance."
"A bow isn't a bad preliminary. And sometimes it's not a bad plan to adopt foreign ways in a foreign land."