"Oh, Jean, I do! I appreciate you."
"Rather clever, Frank, but that isn't just what I mean. I mean like Spoof; we might as well be frank about it. I've seen him watch the sunset in the pond; watch the colors change and blend and run in little ripples with a touch of breeze as though the water had been stirred with a feather; I've seen him sit for hours watching the ambers and saffrons and champagnes of the prairie sunset, and——"
"And that's why he got so little plowing done."
"Stop it! And he knows every flower on the prairies, and all you know is pigweed and——"
"And tiger lilies."
"Stop it again! And he takes note of little things, like when I worked a new strip of lace into the yoke of my dress, and when I put a dash of scarlet ribbon in my hat he said it gave me just the touch of color that one needed on the prairies, and it was no wonder that the Red Indians loved color, and how much wiser, in some things, they were than we, and——"
"He was spoofing you, Jean."
"He wasn't."
"Then he was making love to you."
"Perhaps. But it was very nice. You never noticed my lace or my ribbon. You didn't even notice this new cap I have on to-day; I made it out of an old muff, all myself, and I just said to myself, 'I wonder if Frank will notice it,' but you didn't——"