"What a pretty speech!" she commented, and I saw what I'd done, and felt
myself turn a beautiful purple. Compare her to a worm!

But she laughed when she saw how uncomfortable I was, and after that I was
almost glad I'd said it; she _did_ have dimples--two of them--and--

The laugh, however, was no sign of incipient amiability, as I very soon
discovered. She turned her back on me and went imperturbably on with her
sketching; she was trying to put on paper the lights and shades of White
Divide--and even a desire to be chivalrous will not permit me to lie and
say that she was making any great success of it. I don't believe the Lord
ever intended her for an artist.

"Aren't you giving King's Highway a much wider mouth than it's entitled
to?" I asked mildly, after watching her for a minute.

"I should not be surprised," she told me haughtily, "if you some day
wished it still wider."

"There wouldn't be the chance for fighting, if it was; and I take great
pleasure in keeping the feud going."

"I thought you were anxious for a truce," she said recklessly, shading a
slope so that it looked like the peak of a roof.

"I am," I retorted shamelessly. "I'm anxious for anything under the sun
that will keep you talking to me. People might call that a flirtatious
remark, but I plead not guilty; I wouldn't know how to flirt, even if
I wanted to do so."