“What do you think of him yourself?” she persisted.
“I ain’t sayin’ out loud.” Robin shrugged his shoulders.
“That’s wisdom. Probably it’s just as well not to waste either words or thought on Shining Mark Steele. He’s rather gaudily picturesque, with all those silver ornaments on him, isn’t he?” she laughed. “Like a stage cowboy—only he’s real. By the way, there’s to be a dance at the schoolhouse above our place next week. One of the Davis girls told me it was to be timed so our cowpunchers could take it in when the whole outfit got back after shipping this herd. Will you be there?”
“If there’s a dance I can get to I’m generally there. Don’t reckon you will be, though.”
“I might. I’m no snob.”
“I have a sort of idea what that is,” Robin confessed. “But I’m not dead sure.”
“A snob is one who looks down on persons he deems of less consequence than himself, and fawns on those he regards as his superiors, either mentally, socially or financially.”
“I’ve seen such.”
“I don’t know of any in the Sutherland family, thank God,” May breathed.
“You can sure sling the English language,” Robin said with a note of admiration in his voice. “Must be a comfort to know all the words there is to say what you want, what you mean.”