"Oh, don't you know?" he replied, looking at her in an interpretive way.

"No."

"Sure you don't?"

"Well, I know you liked Mr. Semple, and I always thought you liked me as
his wife. He's gone, though, now."

"And you're here," he replied.

"And I'm here?"

"Yes. I like you. I like to be with you. Don't you like me that way?"

"Why, I've never thought of it. You're so much younger. I'm five years
older than you are."

"In years," he said, "certainly. That's nothing. I'm fifteen years older
than you are in other ways. I know more about life in some ways than
you can ever hope to learn--don't you think so?" he added, softly,
persuasively.

"Well, that's true. But I know a lot of things you don't know." She
laughed softly, showing her pretty teeth.

It was evening. They were on the side porch. The river was before them.

"Yes, but that's only because you're a woman. A man can't hope to get a
woman's point of view exactly. But I'm talking about practical affairs