or the first time a fortnight ago.'

"'That's because she reminds him of you,' I replied, 'or because you
remind him of her, whichever you prefer. It shows you're the sort of
woman he'll always be falling in love with.'

"She laughed at that, but the next moment she was serious again. 'A
man's got to fall out of love before he falls into it again,' she
replied. 'I want a man that'll stop there. Besides,' she goes on, 'a
woman isn't always young and pretty: we've got to remember that. We want
something else in a husband besides eyes.'

"'You seem to know a lot about it,' says I.

"'I've thought a lot about it,' says she.

"'What sort of husband do you want?' says I.

"'I want a man of honour,' says she.

"That was sense. One don't often find a girl her age talking it, but her
life had made her older than she looked. All I could find to say was
that he appeared to be an honest chap, and maybe was one.

"'Maybe,' says she; 'that's what I mean to find out. And if you'll do me
a kindness,' she adds, 'you won't mind calling me Marie Luthier for the
future, instead of Godselle. It was my mother's name, and I've a fancy
for it.'

"Well, there I left her to work out the thing for herself, having come to
the conclusion she was capable of doing it; and so for another couple of
weeks I merely watched. There was no doubt about his being in love with
her. He had entered that Cafe at the beginning of the month with as good
an opinion of himself as a man can conveniently carry without tumbling
down and falling over it. Before the month was out he would sit with his
head between his hands, evidently wondering why he had been born. I've
seen the game played before, and I've seen it played since. A waiter has
plenty of opportunities if he only makes use of them; for if it comes to
a matter of figures, I suppose there's more love-making done in a month
under the electric light of the restaurant than the moon sees in a
year--leastways, so far as concerns what we call the civilised world.
I've seen men fooled, from boys without hair on their faces, to old men
without much on their heads. I've seen it done in a way that was pretty
to watch, and I've seen it done in a manner that has made me feel that
given a wig and a petticoat I could do it better myself. But never have
I seen it neater played than Marie played it on that young man of hers.
One day she would greet him for all the world like a tired child that at
las