"Why have you never remarried, Mrs. Lautier?" Wyeth ventured, one day. She colored unseen for a moment, before she answered:
"Perhaps there's a reason."
"What reason? You are charming—very charming, I think," said he earnestly, although he smiled.
She hid her face. For a woman of her age, she was most extraordinary. "I have been told that creole people have a most frightful temper," pursued Wyeth, enjoying her manner. "Is that quite true?"
"Yes," She admitted, surveying him now.
"And do you happen to be endowed with such an asset, also?"
"I wouldn't be a creole if I were not," she advised, still smiling.
"That's too bad," said he, a trifle sadly. "You seem too kind and sweet of manner, to be liable to those angry, wild fits they tell me they have."
"Perhaps you will see New Orleans while you are in the south, and the creoles; and then, you can be better prepared to understand them in the future," she said.
"Perhaps I will," he said, after some thinking. "Yes, perhaps I will. I had not thought of it before."