"That appears about it."
She did not answer. He rose and looked down upon her. One tendril of her golden hair, like silk in texture, caressed her fine-grained cheek, delicately contrasted against its alluring color. He would have liked to press it closer to the skin with his fingers ... quite gently. But he said:
"I guess you and I don't understand each other very well, and, if we don't, it ain't any use in our talking further. As for advisin' you about your business...."
Jane blew on her ash.
"I just tried to show you how to start right, accordin' to my notion, and if it made you mad I'm sorry.
"After all, it don't make so much difference what other folks think of us. It's what we think of ourselves that counts most, but none of us can get clear away from the other hombre's ideas."
That twinkle crept back in to his eyes. Her little frame fairly bristled independence and self-sufficiency; it was in the pert set of her head, the poise of her square shoulders, the languid swinging of one small foot.
"I think that you think a lot of yourself, ma'am. That's more 'n most folks can say."
She rose as he reached for his hat.
"I'm glad to have your opinion on the proportions of my job," she said briefly, "and for that I am glad that you came in."