"Eh? . . . Of course I am sure. I was only thinkin' how queer it was he should have pumped it out of us, so to say, with the same letters— almost to a syllable."
"There's two ways o' lookin' at that," said 'Bias thoughtfully. "You may put it that marryin's as common as dirt. Nine out o' ten indulges in it; and, that bein' so, the same form o' words'll do for everybody, more or less, in proposin' it; just as (when you come to think) the same Marriage Service does for all when they come to the scratch. If all men meant different to all women, there wouldn't be enough dictionary to go round."
Cai shook his head. "I'm the better of it now," he confessed; "but I got to own that, at the moment, though Benny did well enough, there didn't seem enough dictionary to go round."
"I felt something of a rarity myself at the time," owned 'Bias. "But there's another explanation I like better, though you'll think it far-fetched. . . . You and me—until this happened, there was never a cross word atween us, nor a cross thought?"
"That's so, 'Bias."
"Well, and that bein' so, if Benny hit the note for one, how could it help bein' the note for both? . . . I've had pretty rash thoughts about Benny: but—put it in that way—who's to blame the man? Or the woman, for that matter?"
"I like that explanation better," said Cai.
"—Or the woman? She can't help bein' a two-headed nightingale."
"To be sure she can't. . . . We might leave it at that and say no more about it. She'd be sure to understand in time."
"The agreement was, last night," insisted 'Bias with great firmness, "to put it to her straight and get it over."