"It must be."

"He has a sweetheart," Winfield went on, "and I expect she'll be
dazzled."

"My Hepsey is his lady love," Ruth explained.

"What? The haughty damsel who wouldn't let me in? Do tell!"

"You're imitating now," laughed Ruth, "but I shouldn't call it
flattery."

For a moment, there was a chilly silence. Ruth did not look at
him, but she bit her lip and then laughed, unwillingly. "'It's
all true," she said, "I plead guilty."

"You see, I know all about you," he went on. "You knit your brows
in deep thought, do not hear when you are spoken to, even in a
loud voice, and your mail consists almost entirely of bulky
envelopes, of a legal nature, such as came to the 'Widder'
Pendleton from the insurance people."

"Returned manuscripts," she interjected.

"Possibly--far be it from me to say they're not. Why, I've had
'em myself."

"You don't mean it!" she exclaimed, ironically.

"You seek out, as if by instinct, the only crazy person in the