and asked, "With money?"

"No," I said. "With just the nicest, sweetest, prettiest girl in the
world."

Madge took a look at me out of the corner of her eye, and remarked,
"It must be breakfast time."

Considering that it was about six-thirty, I wanted to ask who was
telling a taradiddle now; but I resisted the temptation, and replied--

"No. And I promise not to bother you about my private affairs any
more."

Madge laughed again merrily, saying, "You are the most obvious man I
ever met. Now why did you say that?"

"I thought you were making breakfast an excuse," I said, "because you
didn't like the subject."

"Yes, I was," said Madge, frankly. "Tell me about the girl you are
engaged to."

I was so taken back that I stopped in my walk, and merely looked at
her.

"For instance," she asked coolly, when she saw that I was speechless,
"what does she look like?"

"Like, like--" I stammered, still embarrassed by this bold carrying of
the war into my own camp--"like an angel."

"Oh," said Madge, eagerly, "I've always wanted to know what angels
were like. Describe her to me."

"Well," I said, getting my second wind, so to speak, "she has the
bluest eyes I've ever seen. Why, Miss Cullen, you said you'd never
seen anything so blue as the sky yesterday; but even the atmosphere of
'rainless Arizona' has to take a back seat when her eyes are round.
And they are just like the atmosphere out here. You can look into them
for a hundred miles, but you can't get to the bottom."

"The Arizona sky is wonderful," said Madge. "How do the scientists
account for it?"

I wasn't going to have my description of Miss Cullen sidetracked, for,
since she had given me the chance, I wanted her to know just what I
thought of her. Therefore I didn't follow lead on the Arizona skies,
but went on--

"And I really think her hair is just as beautiful as her eyes. It's
light brown, very curly, and--"

"Her complexion!" exclaimed Madge. "Is she a mulatto? And, if so, how
can a complexion be curly?"

"Her complexion," I said, not a bit rattled, "is another great beauty
of hers. She has one of those skins--"

"Furs are out of fashion at present," she interjected, laughing
wickedly.

"Now look here, Miss Cullen," I cried indignantly, "I'm not going to
let even you make fun of her."

"I can't help it," she laughed, "when you look so serious and
intense."

"It's something I feel intense about, Miss Cullen," I said, not a
little paine