"O' course, my soul ain't all it should be--a bit stained here
an' there, p'raps--a bit th' worse for wear, Mr. Geoffrey, but
Hermy's--well, there, I guess it's jest as sweet as a flower still, an'
white--as white as that tablecloth. An' talkin' about her soul--what
about her body, Mr. Geoffrey?"

Ravenslee started. "Her body?" said he, staring. "Well, since you ask,
I should say it is like her soul--very sweet and white and--"

"Sure!" nodded Mrs. Trapes, "but, bein' only flesh an' blood after
all--bein' only miserable clay like yours an' mine, Mr. Geoffrey, it'll
always need food t' nourish it, clo'es t' keep it warm, an' a roof t'
shelter it. Well, if she was t' be s' mad as t' marry a peanut man, what
about food an' clo'es an' a roof?"

"I think they could be managed, Mrs. Trapes."

"What--out o' peanuts?"

"No--er--the fact is, I've given 'em up."

Mrs. Trapes sniffed. "Y' don't say!" she remarked drily. "Think o' that,
now!"

"The fact is, Mrs. Trapes, I--well, suppose I were to confess to you
that I'm not quite so poor as I seem--what should you say?"

"Why, I should say as I knew that about three weeks ago, Mr. Geoffrey."

"Oh, did you?" said Ravenslee, staring. "How in the world did you find