"Oh," she murmured, and looked away, thinking of his qualifying "any woman." He had never spoken like that before—classed her with other women. It showed that he had accepted the situation, and she told herself that she was glad; nevertheless, it was not an unmixed gladness: for the first time she felt that something had gone out of her life that she had always calmly accepted as being as unchanging as her native hills. Yet it seemed unreasonable that it should sadden her. With a little shrug of impatience she put the thought away just as he leaned to speak to her again.
"Won't you go below now, Hetty?" he said, with a touch of impatience. "I can't stay here."
"I've not asked you to," she replied.
"You know what I mean well enough," he said. "I can't leave you here alone. You are a little tease, for all you can be so dignified at times."
"If you call me names, I shall certainly be dignified," she declared. She looked away as she added: "You wouldn't call Miss Stromberg a tease, I'm sure."
"She's a little flirt," he answered promptly.
"How do you know?" she asked.
"Oh, I just think so. The dominie says she isn't, though. It's only fair to say that," he replied.
"I wondered what men found to talk about so much," she said.
He did not think it necessary to answer this, but stood looking out over the deck with unseeing eyes. A wave broke at the side, leaped up, and swept across the deck in a sheet of spray.