can write tons of poetry about it, and when you get through
you'll be just where you started. You can find a reason for pretty near
everything a woman does, though you may have to rack your brains like
the devil to do it, but you can't explain why she falls in love with
this man and not with that. Perhaps you recall Longfellows's lines: 'The
men that women marry, and why they marry them, will always be a marvel
and a mystery to the world.' Personally, I'm a bit of a fatalist
regarding love. I think hearts are mated when they're fashioned, and
when they get together you can no more keep them apart than you keep two
drops of quicksilver from running into each other when they touch. It's
as good a theory as any, for it can't be disproved."

"Then how account for unhappy marriages?" asked Wade.

"I said hearts were mated, not bodies and brains, nor livers, either.
Half the unhappy marriages are due, I dare say, to bad livers."

"Well," laughed Wade, rising and finding his hat, "your theory sounds
reasonable. As for me, I have no theory--nor data. So I'll go home and
go to sleep. Don't forget Saturday night, Doctor."

"Saturday night? Oh, to be sure, to be sure. I'll not forget, you may
depend. Good night, Mr. Herrick, and thank you for looking in on me.
And--ah--Mr. Herrick?"

"Yes?"

"Ah--I wouldn't be too meek, if I were you. Even Fate may relish a
little assistance. Good night. I wouldn't be surprised if we had a
thunder storm before morning."

XIV.

Wade was relieved to find that Eve's manner toward him had undergone no
change by reason of his impromptu declaration. They met quite as before,
and if there was any embarrassment on the part of either of them it was
not on hers. During the next few days it happened that he seldom found
himself alone with her for more than a few moments, but it did not occur
to him that Chance alone was not responsible. As Wade understood it, it
was a period of truce, and he was careful not to give word or look that
might be construed into a violation of terms. Perhaps he overdid it a
little, for there were times, usually when he was not looking, when Eve
shot speculating, slightly puzzled glances at him. Perhaps she was
thinking that such subjects as last night's thunder storm, dormer
windows, and the apple crop outlook were not just what a declared lover
might be supposed to choose for conversation. Once or twice, notably
toward the end of the week, and when she had been p