"They don't mean much, in the case of a woman."

"I've never seen many of'em," returned Winfield, "and I don't
want to. Even stage tears go against the grain with me. I know
that the lady who sobs behind the footlights is well paid for it,
but all the same, it gives me the creeps."

"It's nothing serious--really it isn't," she explained. "It's
merely a safety valve. If women couldn't cry, they'd explode."

"I always supposed tears were signs of sorrow," he said.

"Far from it," laughed Ruth. "When I get very angry, I cry, and
then I got angrier because I'm crying and cry harder."

"That opens up a fearful possibility. What would happen if you
kept getting angrier because you were crying and crying harder
because you got angrier?"

"I have no idea," she answered, with her dark eyes fixed upon
him, "but it's a promising field for investigation."'

"I don't want to see the experiment."

"Don't worry," said Ruth, laconically, "you won't."

There was a long silence, and Winfield began to draw designs on
the bare earth with a twig. "Tell me about the lady who is
considered crazy," he suggested.