met. Thar's nothin' in the looks of me that's goin' to make a man
regret he's got a wife if I can help it; an' mark my word, Mr.
Fletcher, if they had dyed Molly Peterkin's hair black she might
have been a self-respectin' woman an' a hater of men this very
day. A light character an' a light head go precious well
together, an' when you set one a good sober colour the other's
pretty apt to follow."

Fletcher rose from his chair and stood gripping the table hard.

"Have you any reason to think--does it look likely--that young
Blake has had a hand in this?" he asked.

"Who? Mr. Christopher? Why, I don't believe he could tell a
petticoat from a pair of breeches to save his soul. He ain't got
no fancy for corn-tassels and blue ribbons, I kin tell you that.
It's good honest women that are the mothers of families that he
takes to, an' even then it ain't no mo' than 'How are you, Mrs.
Spade? A fine mornin'!'"

"Well, thar's one thing you may be sartain of," returned
Fletcher, breaking in upon her, "and that is that this whole
business is as good as settled. I leave here with the boy
to-morrow morning at sunrise, and he doesn't set foot agin in
this county until he's gone straight through the university. I'll
drag him clean across the broad ocean before he shall do it."

Then, as Mrs. Spade took a noisy departure, he stood, without
listening to her, gazing morosely down upon the pattern of the
carpet.