Frances did not answer.
“She was a decent sort of girl, really, wasn’t she?” he asked again, once more looking up at her.
“I wish I had a woman like that for a friend,” Frances said, at last. “Do you know, Jim, it is years and years since I have had a woman friend. Yes, yes, my beloved own, I know I have you, but that is so different.”
He nodded his head sorrowfully, and stretched out his hand for hers.
“You’re better than all of ’em!” he said fondly.
They were both silent for several minutes.
“We’re going to be decent now, aren’t we, Frank?” he went on at last, quietly, joyously.
“Yes, Jim, from now on.”
“I was just thinking, this town has got to know us a little too well by this time. When we start over we’ll have to migrate, I suppose.” Then he smiled a little. “We ought to be thankful, Frank, they haven’t got us both pinned up by the Bertillon system, down at Headquarters!”
“I’d defy Bertillon himself to find you,” she laughed, “underneath that two weeks’ beard.”