"I certainly do!" nodded Ravenslee.
"O' course, my soul ain't all it should be—a bit stained here an' there, p'raps—a bit th' worse for wear, Mr. Geoffrey, but Hermy's—well, there, I guess it's jest as sweet as a flower still, an' white—as white as that tablecloth. An' talkin' about her soul—what about her body, Mr. Geoffrey?"
Ravenslee started. "Her body?" said he, staring. "Well, since you ask, I should say it is like her soul—very sweet and white and—"
"Sure!" nodded Mrs. Trapes, "but, bein' only flesh an' blood after all—bein' only miserable clay like yours an' mine, Mr. Geoffrey, it'll always need food t' nourish it, clo'es t' keep it warm, an' a roof t' shelter it. Well, if she was t' be s' mad as t' marry a peanut man, what about food an' clo'es an' a roof?"
"I think they could be managed, Mrs. Trapes."
"What—out o' peanuts?"
"No—er—the fact is, I've given 'em up."
Mrs. Trapes sniffed. "Y' don't say!" she remarked drily. "Think o' that, now!"
"The fact is, Mrs. Trapes, I—well, suppose I were to confess to you that I'm not quite so poor as I seem—what should you say?"
"Why, I should say as I knew that about three weeks ago, Mr. Geoffrey."