Doris came over and rumpled his hair with her meticulously manicured fingers that had won his astonished admiration.
"You know, Bill-dear, there's another thing you forget. You must take soup from the side of the spoon; and peas, dear man, are eaten with a fork—out here."
"I know it—but darn it, I like the juice. If I ain't wealthy enough to take mine with a spoon, I'll get out and rake in more money. Funny, isn't it, Doris? In the desert I felt myself a Beau Brummel—as I understand that term—amongst the miners and prospectors I came in contact with. I was as good as anybody—better than some. Out here, they make me feel like a cave man with his first clothes on."
"I'm sure your manners are very good, Bill-dear," Doris comforted him absently. "Just a few little points to remember—things one never encounters in the desert. If you watch the others —at table, you know—and do as they do about which fork——"
"Not on your life!" (After six weeks of hotel honeymoon and their clothes inextricably mixed in the dresser drawers, and Bill constantly on the alert lest he hurt Doris' feelings, he could argue with his divinity quite as if she were human.) "I'm not going to make a monkey of myself, copying the fellow who sits across the table. I'll do what's comfortable for me and the rest of the bunch, and let it go at that. I don't aspire to be any lady's man, Doris, nor any society bird. Men like Baker Cole don't grin behind their hands if you go first into the dining room and let your wife follow. I know—I saw you blush for shame last night, honey. But your old Bill wants to break trail for you all his life. It's second nature for me to go first and see what's ahead of us, and put it out of your way if it's dangerous."
Doris laughed at him, showing the dimple in her left cheek,—with a faint film of powder distinguishable there nowadays.
"You dear old silly, just take this view of the matter, and it'll help you remember the rules, maybe: I might be kidnaped behind your back, and you wouldn't know it, stalking ahead of me the way you do. You're supposed to shoo a lady gently before you down the aisle, and see that handsome villains don't cut in behind you." Her hand slipped down and patted his lean, freshly shaven jaw.
"Dear man, is the money holding out?" she asked suddenly, coming at last to the thing that was foremost in her mind.
Bill let his head drop back against the cushioned chair and laughed at her, his eyes half-closed and feasting on her face.
"You never wanted to ask that question as long as you lived," he reminded her teasingly.