The way she carried herself among men had always impressed him. Fearless
and friendly, and with deep understanding, she created respect wherever
she went. Men, toughened and coarsened by danger and hardship, somehow
understood that Jane Norman was not the sort to make love to because one
happened to be bored. On the other hand, there was something in her that
called to every man, as a candle calls to the moth; only there were no
burnt wings; there seemed to be some invisible barrier that kept the
circling moths beyond the zone of incineration.
Was there fire in her? He wondered. That copper tint in her hair suggested
it. Magnificent! And what the deuce was the colour of her eyes? Sometimes
there was a glint of topaz, or cornflower sapphire, gray agate; they were
the most tantalizing eyes he had ever gazed into.
"Hungry?" he greeted her.
"For fourteen months!"
"Do you know what?"
"What?"
"I'd give a year of my life for a club steak and all the regular
fixings."
"That isn't fair! You've gone and spoiled my dinner."
"Wishy-washy chicken! How I hate tin cans! Pancakes and maple syrup!
What?"
"Sliced tomatoes with sugar and vinegar!"
"You don't mean that!"
"I do! I don't care how plebeian it is. Bread and butter and sliced
tomatoes with sugar and vinegar--better than all the ice cream that ever
was! Childhood ambrosia! For mercy's sake, let's get in before all the
wings are gone!"
They entered the huge dining room with its pattering Chinese boys--entered
it laughing--while all the time there was at bottom a single identical
thought--the father.
Would they see him again? Would he be here at one of the tables? Would a
break come, or would the affair go on eternally?
"I know what it is!" he cried, breaking through the spell.
"What?"
"Ever read 'Phra the Phoenician'?"
"Why, yes. But what is what?"
"For days I've been trying to place you. You're the British heroine!"
She thought for a moment to recall the physical attributes of this
heroine.
"But I'm not red-headed!" she denied, indignantly.
"But it is! It is the most beautiful head of hair I ever laid eyes on."
"And that is the beginning and the end of me," she returned with a little
catch in her voice.
The knowledge bore down upon her that her soul was thirsty for this kind
of talk. She did not care whether he was in earnest or not.