Then, breaking a bit of corn bread, she said gravely:

“I do not mean that you have not been kind, as men mean kindness. I do not even mean that I blame men.

God made them different from us. And had He made me one, doubtless I had been as all men are, taking the road through life as gaily, sword on thigh and hat in hand to every pretty baggage that a kindly fate made wayfarer with me. No, I have never blamed a man; only the silly minx who listens.”

After a short silence, I said: “Who, in the name of heaven, are you, Lois?”

“Does that concern you?”

“I would have it concern me — if you wish.”

“Dear sir,”