"You're a bad, ungrateful girl," he said weakly, "to laugh at a sweet old lady like that."
"Oh, I am!" Sheila took it almost seriously. "She's been wonderful to me."
"I bet she works you," he said jealously.
"Oh, no. Not a bit too hard. I love it."
"Well," he admitted, "you do look pretty fine, that's a fact. Better than you did at Hudson's. What did you quit for?"
Sheila was sober enough now. The moonlight let some of its silver, uncaught by the twinkling aspen leaves, splash down on her face. It seemed to flicker and quiver like the leaves. She shook her head.
He looked a trifle sullen. "Oh, you won't tell me…. Funny idea, you being a barmaid. Hudson's notion, wasn't it?"
Sheila lifted her clear eyes. "I thought asking questions wasn't good manners in the West."
"Damn!" he said. "Don't you make me angry! I've got a right to ask you questions."
She put her hand up against the smooth white trunk of the tree near which she stood. She seemed to grow a little taller.