A person not sodden with nicotine and dreams would have recognized the fact that I had met a Woman, one deserving a large W whenever her name is spelled, a woman of the sort to make one think that all poems are not trickery, and all romances not romance." "What's her name ?" "Do you suppose I'll tell you, you scheming wife-hunter! If I do, you'll get an introduction somehow, and then you'll win her, for I'm afraid she has good sense." And Harlson laughed and looked down in the brotherly way he had.
"But this is nonsense.

Why don't you tell me something about her?
Is she fat and fifty and rich, or bread-and-buttery and white-skinned and promising, or twenty and just generally fair to look upon, or twenty-five and piquant and knowing, or some big, red-haired lioness, or some yellow-haired, blue-eyed innocent, with good digestion and premature maternal ways, or----" "Rot! She's a woman, I tell you!" "All right.

Answer questions now categorically." "Go ahead." "How old is she ?" "Twenty-seven or eight." "Married ?" "No." "Ever been married ?" "Certainly not." "How do you know ?" Harlson looked surprised, and then he became indignant again.
"Alf," said he, "you have good traits, but you have paralysis of a certain section of your brain.

You don't remember things.

Don't you think I could tell whether or not a woman were married ?" I did not answer him off-hand.