“How interesting your work must be!” Was she sincere, or was she putting it all on? “What do you author?”
It occurred to him as an inspiration that he might be able to swamp and daze her with technical theological terms till his pudding came, so he began to quote his book, beginning on page one. He did not, however, get far.
“You can tell me all that when you come to see me,” the girl interrupted.
“When I come to see you?”
“Certainly. You’ll come, won’t you? Or shall I come to see you?”
He thought of the eyes of Emerson—wise, kind, understanding. His resolute teeth closed on a bit of chicken liver.
“Neither,” he said.
This, he thought, should abash her, but it did nothing of the sort. Instead, she gave him a playful wink.
“Ned,” she said, “I used to belong to the Northwestern Mounted Police and you know their motto.”
“I do not.”