In the word was a clear defiance. She struck a match and held it towards him; then lighted her own cigarette.
Seated again, she stared into the fire, smoking slowly, but as his eyes remained fast on her the color crept upward into her cheeks, higher and brighter until she turned to meet the gaze that was on her and with a bite to the words asked:
"You don't approve of this, either?"
"Why, ma'am, I like to smoke."
"But you stare at me as though I were committing a crime."
"You see, you're the first good white woman I've ever seen smoke."
"You—" She checked the question, looked at him and then eyed her cigarette critically.
"I don't suppose women out here do smoke, do they?"
"No, ma'am; not much."
"And you men? You men who drink and smoke don't want the women to enjoy the same privilege?"