“Perhaps not, and yet it is simple enough. You see I have been training my mind and my eyes and my ears and all the rest of me all my life, into habits of quick and accurate observation, and so I see more at a glance than I should otherwise see in an hour. For example, you’ll admit that I have had no good chance to become acquainted with your hounds, yet I know that one of them has lost a single joint from his tail, and another had a bur inside one of his ears this morning, which you have since removed.” The girl laid down her fork in something like consternation. “But I shan’t like you at all if you see things in that way. I’ll never dare come into your presence.” “Oh, yes, you will. I do not observe for the purpose of criticising; especially I never criticise a woman or a girl to her detriment.” “That is very gallant, at any rate,” answered the girl, accenting the word “gallant” strongly on the second syllable, as all Virginians of that time properly did, and as few other people ever do. “But tell me what you started to say, please?” “What was it?” “Why, you said you knew me a good deal. I thought you were going to tell me what you knew about me.” “Well, I’ll tell you part of what I know. I know that you have a low pitched voice--a contralto it would be called in musical nomenclature. It has no jar in it--it is rich and full and sweet, and while you always speak softly, your voice is easily heard. I should say that you sing.” “No. I must not sing.” “Must not? How is that?” The girl seemed embarrassed--almost pained. The young man, seeing this, apologized: “Pardon me! I did not mean to ask a personal question.” “Never mind!” said the girl. “You were not unkind. But I must not sing, and I must never learn a note of music, and worst of all I must not go to places where they play fine music. If I ever get to liking you very well indeed, perhaps I’ll tell you why--at least all the why of it that I know myself--for I know only a little about it. Now tell me what else you know about me. You see you were wrong this time.” “Yes, in a way. Never mind that. I know that you are a rigid disciplinarian. You keep your hounds under a sharp control.” “Oh, I _must_ do that. They would eat somebody up if I didn’t. Besides it is good for them. You see dogs and women need strict control. A mistress will do for dogs, but every woman needs a master.” The girl said this as simply and earnestly as she might have said that all growing plants need water and sunshine. Arthur was astonished at the utterance, delivered, as it was, in the manner of one who speaks the veriest truism. “Now,” he responded, “I have encountered something in you that I not only do not understand but cannot even guess at. Where did you learn that cynical philosophy?” “Do you mean what I said about dogs?” “No. Though ‘cynic’ means a dog. I mean what you said about women. Where did you get the notion that every woman needs a master?”