"If this sun hits too long on the same spot, it grows warm," she told him.
"Kate, I do wish you wouldn't!" he exclaimed abruptly.
Kate was too forthright for sparring.
"Why not?" she asked.
"For one thing, you are doing a man's work," he said. "For another, I hate to see you burn the loveliest hair I ever saw on the head of a woman, and coarsen your fine skin."
Kate looked down at the ear of corn she held in her hands, and considered an instant.
"There hasn't any man been around asking to relieve me of this work," she said. "I got my start in life doing a man's work, and I'm frank to say that I'd far rather do it any day, than what is usually considered a woman's. As for my looks, I never set a price on them or let them interfere with business, Robert."
"No, I know you don't," he said. "But it's a pity to spoil you."
"I don't know what's the matter with you," said Kate, patiently. She bent her head toward him. "Feel," she said, "and see if my hair isn't soft and fine. I always cover it in really burning sun; this autumn haze is good for it. My complexion is exactly as smooth and even now, as it was the day I first met you on the footlog over twenty years ago. There's one good thing about the Bates women. They wear well. None of us yet have ever faded, and frazzled out. Have you got many Hartley women, doing what you call women's work, to compare with me physically, Robert?"
"You know the answer to that," he said.