people do, I've noticed," replied Polly, easily. "I'll
probably marry somebody who'll spend all his money and leave me eight
children to support, or else I'll die a rheumaticky old maid. Will that
satisfy you?"

"Don't talk that way," said Scott, sharply. "It's unlucky."

"Unlucky? Are you superstitious?"

"No, but I've noticed that people who are always expecting bad luck
usually get it. I'd hate to have you----" he stopped, and Polly caught a
look in his eyes that startled her.

"Die a rheumaticky old maid?" she said, nervously. "Well, I don't want to,
either, but it seems to me that the number of people who get out of this
world without a lot of trouble of some kind or other is a pretty small
one, so you needn't begrudge me a few years of easy going. What was Mrs.
Conrad's trouble?"

"She's had a good deal of it first and last, but I was thinking of her
husband's death, two years ago."

"Did you know her then?"

"Me? No, indeed, I never met her before to-night, but Hard told me, and so
did Herrick. I don't reckon Hard would mind my telling you her story, now
you've met her. You see, he and she were young folks together in Boston. I
guess they sort of played at being in love with each other, like young
folks do. Then her father died, and left her with hardly anything, and
that woke 'em up. It made things look more serious.

"Hard wanted to marry her, but she wouldn't. She had a voice and she
wanted a career; so she went to Europe. That's where she met Herrick and
took lessons of him. Then, suddenly, instead of going on the stage, she
married one of those floating Englishmen. Met him in Paris, married him,
and came over here with him."

"Didn't she care for Mr. Hard?"

"Well, it's pretty hard sometimes to know who a woman does care for," said
Scott, candidly. "But if she did, she must have got over it. Or maybe she
got tired of the singing business and took Conrad in a fit of the blues.
I've known 'em to do that."

"Men, I suppose, never marry for reasons of that sort!"

"Men? Lord, yes, men'll do anything--most of 'em," grinned Scott,
cheerfully. "We're a rum lot. Anyhow, Mrs. Conrad married her Englishman
and came over to the coffee plantation with him. I guess they had some
trouble like everybody else has had these last few years, but they managed
to weather it. Then, about two years ago, they went on a hunting trip, up
in the mountains, just the two of them and a Mexican boy. While they were
there, C