“She detests him, so she says,” Nona murmured.
“Then why does she stick around up here in this forsaken country, when she doesn’t have to?”
“You might ask her,” Nona replied.
Rock had squatted on his heels, picking pods off the vines and chucking them by handfuls into the pan.
“I might, at that,” he agreed, “when I have a chance.”
“Alice is very ornamental,” Nona Parke continued thoughtfully. “But quite useless, except to look at. She gives me a pain sometimes, although I like her well enough.”
“You’re not very hard to look at yourself, it happens,” Rock told her deliberately. “And I don’t suppose you object to being ornamental as well as very useful and practical.”
Nona looked at him critically.
“Don’t be silly,” she warned.
“Don’t intend to be.” Rock grinned. “I never did take life very seriously. I sure don’t aspire to begin the minute I find myself working for you. I’m a poor but honest youth, with my way to make in the world. Is it silly for a man to admire a woman—any woman?”