her as I do of you."

Sheila smiled for the first time. "You wouldn't tell her that."

"I'd tell it to anybody. It's a fact. Why, look here: I'm a practical
man; I've no more imagination than a stump. And yet I've lain awake
nights pretending to myself that you had let me kiss you willingly.
How's that?"

Sheila laughed softly. "That's certainly going some, Mr. Farwell!"

"Well, it's what I do, anyway. It's about all the consolation I've
got."

"Is it? Couldn't you get something better than that?"

"I could if you'd give me half a chance," he declared. "You turned me
down hard and cold. There's a fine show for consolation, isn't there?"

"Perhaps some other girl----?" she suggested demurely.

"No!" Farwell rapped out bluntly. "I don't want any other girl. I don't
like other girls. They make me tired. I'd rather work than fuss with
them. It's easier. If I can't have you I don't want anybody."

Sheila laughed again. The colour was high in her cheeks, and a strange
light was shining in her clear eyes. She shot a glance at him, half
amused, half serious.

"And if you had me you'd be tired of me in no time. I'm just plain
girl."

"Plain girl nothing! You're the prettiest----"

"I'm not; I'm not even average."

"And the best and the most sensible and the pluckiest one I ever saw,"
he pursued, unheeding. "Don't tell me; I know. I've seen whole rafts of
women. Dolls! Flirts! Gigglers! Fainters! Talking slush and thinking
slop! Soft, too, like dough. Eating filthy coloured and flavoured
glucose by the pound. Yah! Not a sane idea, or a sound digestion, or a
healthy body in the bunch. And as for dress, the average woman piles a
lot of truck on her like a _klootch_ at a potlatch, and cinches
herself up in a----"

"Hush!" said Sheila.

"Huh!" said Farwell. "Why shouldn't I call things by their names? I
never could see----"

"You aren't supposed to see. That's plenty. I won't be lectured on the
follies of my sex."

"You're different from the others," said Farwell. "That's just it.
You've got ideas apart from dress and gossip, the same as a man has.
You're in good hard condition physically. You don't giggle, and titter,
and make eyes, and expect a man to talk like a da--er--ah--that is, you
don't expect a lot of silly compliments. I've never seen anybody like
you. Talk of another girl! Bah! I couldn't stand one in the same house.
It's you or no one."

"I don't think I'd wear well, Mr. Farwell. You'd get tired o