Saxon ceased, troubled and surprised that she should be so
intimate with a stranger.

"'Tis a queer thing, this love of men," Mercedes said. "And a
failing of all women is it to believe they know men like books.
And with breaking hearts, die they do, most women, out of their
ignorance of men and still foolishly believing they know all
about them. Oh, la la, the little fools. And so you say, little
new-married woman, that you will make your man love you always
and always? And so they all say it, knowing men and the queerness
of men's love the way they think they do. Easier it is to win the
capital prize in the Little Louisiana, but the little new-married
women never know it until too late. But you--you have begun well.
Stay by your pretties and your looks. 'Twas so you won your man,
'tis so you'll hold him. But that is not all. Some time I will
talk with you and tell what few women trouble to know, what few
women ever come to know.--Saxon!--'tis a strong, handsome name
for a woman. But you don't look it. Oh, I've watched you. French
you are, with a Frenchiness beyond dispute. Tell Mr. Roberts I
congratulate him on his good taste."

She paused, her hand on the knob of her kitchen door.

"And come and see me some time. You will never be sorry. I can
teach you much. Come in the afternoon. My man is night watchman
in the yards and sleeps of mornings. He's sleeping now."

Saxon went into the house puzzling and pondering. Anything but
ordinary was this lean, dark-skinned woman, with the face