osie was often in doubt as to the
exact meaning of Danny's little quirks of thought. She looked at him
now, trying to decide whether his remarks deserved reproof or
acceptance. Danny watched her with twinkling amusement. At last he burst
out laughing.

"Ah, Rosie dear, don't trouble yir pretty little head for ye'll never
make it out! And, after all, what does it matter if ye don't? With you,
darlint, the only thing that matters is this: that it's yourself that
cheers a man's heart with your lovin' ways and your sweet pretty face."

How Danny had worked around to this sentiment, Rosie could not for the
life of her tell. His words, however, suggested a question that called
for discussion.

"It seems to me, Danny, you think all men like girls with loving ways."

Danny's answer was prompt: "I do that, Rosie! You can take an old man's
word for it and no mistake."

Rosie shook her head thoughtfully. "I don't see how you make that out.
Take Ellen now: she hasn't very loving ways; she snaps your head off if
you look at her; but she's got beaux all right--more than any girl on
the street, and poor old Jarge Riley's gone daft over her. Now how do
you make that out?"

"Ah, that's a different matter," Danny explained airily. "You see,
Rosie, there be two classes of men, sensible men and fools, and most men
belong to both classes. Now a sensible man knows that a sweet loving
woman will make him a happy home and a good mother to his children. Any
man'll agree to that. So I'm right when I tell you that all men love
that kind of a woman, for they do. But let a bold hussy come along with
a handsome face on her and a nasty wicked temper, and before you count
ten she'll call out all the fool there is in a man and off he goes after
her as crazy as a half-witted rooster. Ah, I've seen it time and again.
Many a poor lad that ought have known better has put the halter about
his own neck! Have you ever thought, Rosie dear, of the queer ch'ices
men make when they marry?"

"Danny, I don't know what you mean."

Danny's eyes took on a far-away look. "Take Mary and me. For forty years
now I've been wonderin' what it was that married us."

"Why, Danny!" Rosie's expression was reproachful. "Didn't you love
Mary?"

"Love her, do you say? Why, of course I loved her! Didn't me knees go
weak at sight of her and me head dizzy? But the question is: why did I
love her or why did she love me? There I was a gay dancing blade of a
lad and Mary a s