“Would you have her a suspicious old woman?” retorted her husband. “She’s got the b-best heart and the s-sweetest disposition,—she’s a fine girl,” he concluded, lamely. He could not be eloquent, but he felt deeply, and his prominent eyes watered in a sincere and affectionate manner as he went on with his breakfast.
“Where’s my coffee?” he asked, presently.
Mrs. Danvers started slightly, and passed him the forgotten cup.
“You’ve half filled it with sugar,” he said, “I guess you were dreaming when you poured it.”
Again she said nothing, and quietly poured him another cup; but he persisted, “What was you thinking of, Melinda?”
“I was pondering on the mysteries of the law of mutual selection, if you must know,” she said, calmly.
He surveyed her suspiciously. She had been a school-teacher before she married him, and her education had been greatly superior to his own. Comprehending his state of mind, she went on, kindly: “With regard to Fordyce and Nina. He lands in a state where there are one hundred and fifty thousand more women than men. The most of those women have good eyes, ears, noses, fine heads of hair, yet he comes rushing over the border into New Hampshire.”
“I’ll venture to say there isn’t another Nina in Massachusetts,” said the fat man.
“I agree with you there. She is unique.”
“Do you think she likes Fordyce well enough to marry him?” he asked, anxiously.