“No—that's so,” responded Mr. Langworthy, nodding his head, as assenting to an undeniable proposition, “and you—I suppose you're gettin' on too. I reckon you're—er—married—eh?”—with a slight suggestion of putting the question delicately.
The lady nodded, ignoring the hesitation. “Yes, let me see, it's just three years and three days. Constantine Byers—I don't reckon you know him—from Milwaukee. Timber merchant. Standin' timber's his specialty.”
“And I reckon he's—satisfactory?”
“Yes! Mr. Byers is a good provider—and handy. And you? I should say you'd want a wife in this business?”
Mr. Langworthy's serious half-perfunctory manner here took on an appearance of interest. “Yes—I've bin thinkin' that way. Thar's a young woman helpin' in the kitchen ez might do, though I'm not certain, and I ain't lettin' on anything as yet. You might take a look at her, Rosalie,—I orter say Mrs. Byers ez is,—and kinder size her up, and gimme the result. It's still wantin' seven minutes o' schedule time afore the stage goes, and—if you ain't wantin' more food”—delicately, as became a landlord—“and ain't got anythin' else to do, it might pass the time.”
Strange as it may seem, Mrs. Byers here displayed an equal animation in her fresh face as she rose promptly to her feet and began to rearrange her dust cloak around her buxom figure. “I don't mind, Abner,” she said, “and I don't think that Mr. Byers would mind either;” then seeing Langworthy hesitating at the latter unexpected suggestion, she added confidently, “and I wouldn't mind even if he did, for I'm sure if I don't know the kind o' woman you'd be likely to need, I don't know who would. Only last week I was sayin' like that to Mr. Byers”—
“To Mr. Byers?” said Abner, with some surprise.
“Yes—to him. I said, 'We've been married three years, Constantine, and ef I don't know by this time what kind o' woman you need now—and might need in future—why, thar ain't much use in matrimony.'”
“You was always wise, Rosalie,” said Abner, with reminiscent appreciation.
“I was always there, Abner,” returned Mrs. Byers, with a complacent show of dimples, which she, however, chastened into that resignation which seemed characteristic of the pair. “Let's see your 'intended'—as might be.”