"Then what the devil do I want to say it for? She married about two hours ago, so Miles Brent tells me, and he was there--married a feller named Hogan. I see him around there once or twice, but don't think anythin' of it. Well, I'll swear. I thought I knowed her, and I did know her at one time, but she changed. Blamed if you can tell how soon they'll change on you. Hogan--an old widower." "I know him," said Milford. "He milks fifteen cows. His milk caught her." "I hate to think that," Mitchell drawled, "but I'll have to. Yes, sir, hauled off in a milk-wagon. And she owns a piece of land worth fifty dollars an acre." "She must have wanted milk to wash off her freckles," said Milford. "Don't, Bill--don't make light of a man's trouble. She's a big loss to me, I tell you." "But, Bob, you didn't really love her, now, did you?" "Bill, there's different sorts of love. I loved her in my way, as much as any man ever loved a woman, I reckon, in his way. I put my faith in her, and that was goin' a good ways. Humph! I can't hardly believe it, but I know it's so." "When the heart is rent," said the Professor, twisting his beard to aid his thought; "when the heart is rent----" "It's the failure of the rent--on the land, that gets Bob," Milford broke in. "His heart has nothing to do with it." "Bill, I thought you had more sympathy than----" "Sympathy for a man who has failed to beat a woman out of her property? Of course, I wish you'd succeeded, but I'm not going to console you because you haven't. I'm a scoundrel all right enough, but a scoundrel has his limits." "That's all right, Bill, but somebody may give you the slip." "That's true enough, but my heart and not my pocket will do the grieving. I haven't any time to give to a man's pocket grief." "Wait till you have a real grief," said the Professor. "Wait till ignorance comes heavy of hoof down your hallway to tell you that your years of study are but a waste-land, covered with briars; to cut you with the blue steel of a chilling smile, and to turn you out of an institution that you hold dear. That's grief." He leaned forward upon the table, with his head on his arms. "You had no right to go to see her," said Milford. "You had no divorce." "But I could've got one, couldn't I? Are they so blamed scarce that a man can't get 'em? Well, let it go." "Yes, I must go," said the Professor, getting up. "Is it raining yet? I slipped off between showers without an umbrella." "Sorry I haven't one," Milford replied. "Yes, it's raining. Take that coat up there. It may protect you some." "Thank you. I shall avail myself of your offer."