Self-accusation shone in Lawler's eyes as he started toward her.
"I'm a box-head, Miss Wharton, for standing here, talking about nothing at all, and you nearly freezing to death." And then he halted, midway of the distance toward her, aware that he could do nothing when he did reach her.

And her manner warned him of that, too, for she pulled the blanket closer around her and crowded as far back into the bunk as she could get, looking at him with embarrassed eyes.
"If you could get your clothes fixed," he began.

"You see, Miss Wharton, there wasn't much time, and we had to get them off mighty rapid.

You can see that we were none too gentle about it." She blushed, and he abruptly turned his back and walked to the fireplace.

He stuck close to it until he heard her say: "Won't you please hang my stockings up somewhere?
They are so wet I can't get them on." The stockings, wet and limp, fell close beside him.