Kate's face shone with sympathy.
“How dreadful!” she cried. “I couldn't live without a baby about.”
“Like babies, do you? Well, well. Boys? Like boys?”
“Not a bit better than girls,” said Kate, stoutly.
“I like boys,” responded Roeder, with conviction. “My mother liked boys. She had three girls, but she liked me a damned sight the best.”
Kate laughed outright.
“Why do you swear?” she said. “I never heard a man swear before,—at least, not one with whom I was talking. That's one of your gulch habits. You must get over it.”
Roeder's blond face turned scarlet.
“You must excuse me,” he pleaded. “I'll cure myself of it! Jest give me a chance.”
This was a little more personal than Kate approved of, and she raised her parasol to conceal her annoyance. It was a brilliant little fluff of a thing which looked as if it were made of butterflies' wings. Roeder touched it with awe.