'em. Built that way.
Canal cook goes here," he said, referring to a queen. "Is she skittish,
Bill?"

"No," said Milford, turning from the window and walking up and down the
room. "She's modest, but not skittish."

"And you don't remember whether she's got good sense or not?"

"Of course she has. What the devil are you talking about?"

"All right. But you said you didn't know. I simply want to get at the
merits of the case. I know a good deal about women as women go, and they
go. Been married once and slipped up three times. Can she talk without
smilin' all the time?"

"Yes. She's very earnest at times."

Mitchell raked the cards together, shuffled them and threw the pack on
the table. "A woman that smiles all the time wants you to think she's
better than she is. I married a smile."

"A frown trailing the skirts of a smile," said Milford, and then with a
laugh, he added: "I must have caught that from the Professor."

"I don't know, Bill. But a man that'll sit up and read poetry is apt to
say most anythin'. I once heard a fellow say that men read poetry
because they like it and women because they think they do."

"That fellow was a fool and a liar."

"Well, it's easy enough to be both. That sort of double harness is
always handy. I don't know much about your case, as I haven't seen her,
but if I was in your place I don't believe I'd rush things. A man that
starts in by being badly stuck generally has to win the woman--not often
that they are stuck alike. I'd stay away and make her get lonesome to
see me."

"But how can I tell whether or not she's lonesome to see me?"

"By her tryin' not to seem glad when she sees you again."

"But that leaves the case open for a trip-up. How can I tell that she's
trying not to seem glad?"

"Well, your horse-sense will have to tell you that. But I thought you
didn't want any woman on the place."

"I don't. In looking at it I haven't strained my eye as far as
marriage."

"Then what's the use of lovin' her? It's a waste of raw material."

"There's something I must do before I could permit myself to think of
marrying, and I'm going to do it if it takes a leg. But I'll tell you
what's a fact, I'd rather have that woman's love than anything on the
earth. Sometimes I think that if I knew she loved me I'd be willing to
die. There's somebody out there on the veranda."

A boy came with a note from the Professor's wife, inviting Milford to
supper that evening. There was no al