"Ah! no. It's not the mortial frame, sur; it's the sperit. The sperit of man is not the sperit of woman. The sperit of woman is not the sperit of man. Each one needs the other, sur. They needs each other, sur, to purify and strinthen and enlairge each other's speritu'l life. Ah, sur! Doo not I feel those things, sur?" She touched her heart with one backward-pointed finger, "_I_ doo. It isn't good for min to be alone--much liss for women. Do not misunderstand me, sur; I speak as a widder, sur--and who always will be--ah! yes, I will--ha! ha! ha!" She hushed her laugh as if this were going too far, tossed her head, and continued smiling. So they talked on. Narcisse did not stay an hour, but there was little of the hour left when he rose to go. They had passed a pleasant time. The Creole, it is true, tried and failed to take the helm of conversation. Mrs. Riley held it. But she steered well. She was still expatiating on the "strinthenin'" spiritual value of the marriage relation when she, too, stood up. "And that's what Mr. and Madam Richlin's a-doin' all the time. And they do ut to perfiction, sur--jist to perfiction!" "I doubt it not, Misses Wiley. Well, Misses Wiley, I bid you _au 'evoi'_. I dunno if you'll pummit me, but I am compel to tell you, Misses Wiley, I nevva yeh anybody in my life with such a educated and talented conve'sation like yo'seff. Misses Wiley, at what univussity did you gwaduate?" "Well, reely, Mister--eh"--she fanned herself with broad sweeps of her purple bordered palm-leaf--"reely, sur, if I don't furgit the name I--I--I'll be switched! Ha! ha! ha!" Narcisse joined in the laugh. "Thaz the way, sometime," he said, and then with sudden gravity: "And, by-the-by, Misses Wiley, speakin' of Mistoo Itchlin,--if you could baw' me two dollahs an' a 'alf juz till tomaw mawnin--till I kin sen' it you fum the office-- Because that money I've got faw Mistoo Itchlin is in the shape of a check, and anyhow I'm c'owding me a little to pay that whole sum-total to Mistoo Itchlin. I kin sen' it you firs' thing my bank open tomaw mawnin." Do you think he didn't get it? * * * "What has it got down to now?" John asked again, a few mornings after Narcisse's last visit. Mary told him. He stepped a little way aside, averting his face, dropped his forehead into his hand, and returned. "I don't see--I don't see, Mary--I"-- "Darling," she replied, reaching and capturing both his hands, "who does see? The rich _think_ they see; but do they, John? Now, _do_ they?" The frown did not go quite off his face, but he took her head between his hands and kissed her temple. "You're always trying to lift me," he said. "Don't you lift me?" she replied, looking up between his hands and smiling. "Do I?" "You know you do. Don't you remember the day we took that walk, and you said that after all it never is we who provide?" She looked at the button of his coat, which she twirled in her fingers. "That word lifted me."