you, yourself, she's afraid of losing. It's what she's already
invested in you that's worrying her! All her pinky-posy, cunning
kid-dreams about loving and marrying, maybe; and the pretty-much
grown-up winter she fought out the whisky question with you, perhaps;
and the summer you had the typhoid, likelier than not; and the spring
the youngster was born--oh, sure, the spring the youngster was born!
Gee! If by swallowing just one more yarn you tell her, she can only
keep on holding down all the old yarns you ever told her--if, by
forgiving you just one more forgive-you, she can only hang on, as it
were, to the original worth-whileness of the whole darned
business--if by--"

"Oh, that's what you meant by the 'whole darned business,' was it?"
cried the Youngish Girl suddenly, edging away out to the front of her
seat. Along the curve of her cheeks an almost mischievous smile began
to quicken. "Oh, yes! I heard that, too!" she confessed cheerfully.
"But what was the beginning of it all? The very beginning? What was
the first thing you said? What started you talking about it? Oh,
please, excuse me for hearing anything at all," she finished abruptly;
"but I've been traveling alone now for five dreadful days, all the way
down from British Columbia, and--if--you--will--persist--in--saying
interesting things--in trains--you must take the consequences!"

There was no possible tinge of patronage or condescension in her
voice, but rather, instead, a bumpy, naive sort of friendliness, as
lonesome Royalty sliding temporarily down from its throne might
reasonably contend with each bump, "A King may look at a cat! He may!
He may!"

Along the edge of the Young Electrician's cheek-bones the red began to
flush furiously. He seemed to have a funny little way of blushing just
before he spoke, and the physical mannerism gave an absurdly
italicized sort of emphasis to even the most trivial thing that he
said.

"I guess you'll have to go ahead and tell her about 'Rosie,'" he
suggested grinningly to the Traveling Salesman.

"Yes! Oh, do tell me about 'Rosie,'" begged the Youngish Girl with
whimsical eagerness. "Who in creation was 'Rosie'?" she persisted
laughingly. "I've been utterly mad about 'Rosie' for the last
half-hour!"

"Why, 'Rosie' is nobody at all--probably," said the Traveling Salesman
a trifle wryly.

"Oh, pshaw!" flushed the Young Electrician, crinkling up all the
little smile-tissue around his blue eyes. "Oh, pshaw! Go a