And he laid his large, yet well-shapen workman’s hand on the top of the stove, that was polished black and smooth as velvet. She would not look at him, yet she glanced out of the corners of her eyes.
His eyes were fixed brightly on her, the pupils large and electric like those of a cat.
“I should have picked you out among thousands,” he said. “Though you’re bigger than I’d have believed. Fine flesh you’ve made.”
She was silent for some time. Then she turned in her chair upon him.
“What do you think of yourself,” she said, “coming back on me like this after over fifteen years? You don’t think I’ve not heard of you, neither, in Butte City and elsewhere?”
He was watching her with his clear, translucent, unchallenged eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “Chaps comes an’ goes—I’ve heard tell of you from time to time.”
She drew herself up.
“And what lies have you heard about me?” she demanded superbly.
“I dunno as I’ve heard any lies at all—’cept as you was getting on very well, like.”