"No," said Milford, turning from the window and walking up and down the room. "She's modest, but not skittish.''
"And you don't remember whether she's got good sense or not?"
"Of course she has. What the devil are you talking about?"
"All right. But you said you didn't know. I simply want to get at the merits of the case. I know a good deal about women as women go, and they go. Been married once and slipped up three times. Can she talk without smilin' all the time?"
"Yes. She's very earnest at times."
Mitchell raked the cards together, shuffled them and threw the pack on the table. "A woman that smiles all the time wants you to think she's better than she is. I married a smile."
"A frown trailing the skirts of a smile," said Milford, and then with a laugh, he added: "I must have caught that from the Professor."
"I don't know, Bill. But a man that'll sit up and read poetry is apt to say most anythin'. I once heard a fellow say that men read poetry because they like it and women because they think they do."
"That fellow was a fool and a liar."
"Well, it's easy enough to be both. That sort of double harness is always handy. I don't know much about your case, as I haven't seen her, but if I was in your place I don't believe I'd rush things. A man that starts in by being badly stuck generally has to win the woman—not often that they are stuck alike. I'd stay away and make her get lonesome to see me."