Then for the first time he noticed the manner in which she had striven to dress her hair in the style of her model, Rebecca Noble, and this irritated him unendurably. He waved his hand toward it with a gesture of distaste.
“Don't do that again,” he said. “That is not becoming at least “—though he was angrily conscious that it was.
She bent over the spring with a hint of alarm in her expression.
“Aint it?” she said, and the eager rapidity with which she lifted her hands and began to alter it almost drew a smile from him despite his mood.
“I done it like hern,” she began, and stopped suddenly to look up at him. “You know her,” she added; “they're at Harney's. Father said ye'd went to see her jest as soon as ye got here.”
“I know her,” was his short reply.
He picked up the drinking-gourd and turned away.
“Good-night,” he said.
“Good-night.”
At the top of the rocky incline he looked back at her.