“Good mo’ning,” the young man called cheerfully without turning.
“Good morning,” she answered shyly. For the first time since she had come into the house a queer surge of timidity swept her blood. The modesty of the girl was in arms.
“Your shoes are on the hearth warming.”
“Yes,” she murmured.
He carried hot water in a basin to a summer kitchen adjoining the main cabin.
“Towel hangin’ on the nail,” he told her when he returned a moment later.
Vicky gave him a grateful look and passed into the back room. Ten minutes later she emerged flushed and radiant. The dark rebellious hair had been smoothed down. To Hugh the blue dress looked miraculously fresh and clean.
“Come an’ get it,” he called, just as he would have done to another man.
His matter-of-fact acceptance of the situation dissipated measurably her sense of alarm at the shocked proprieties. If he were not disconcerted at the intimacy into which the blizzard had plunged them, why should she be? With the good healthy appetite of youth she ate eggs, bacon, corn pone, and two flapjacks.
“When can we go?” she asked as he poured coffee into the tin cup before her.