"Huh! Talking in my sleep, was I? What did I say?"
"A lot of things; I can't remember them all. You talked about Mr. Grider, and the mystery, and the dead men, and I don't know what all."
"I didn't say anything about the girl, did I?"
"Not a word," she returned.
"For the best possible reason on earth, Lucetta: there hasn't been any girl. You don't believe that, I suppose. You wouldn't believe it of any man of my age, and—and temperament?"
"Yet you said night before last that you wanted a wife and children and a home. Doesn't that presuppose a girl?"
"In my case it presupposes a handsomely imaginary girl; I'm great on the imaginary things."
"What does she look like—this imaginary girl of yours?"
He glanced up from the paddle-whittling. "Some day, when we get back into the world again, I'll show you what she looks like. Can you wait until then?"
"You don't leave me any choice."