Letitia looked away, more to avert her face from his searching gaze than from embarrassment. "Everybody gets blue now and then," she said carelessly. "But you oughtn't to. I'm the one that ought to get blue--black and blue." "I guess we all do, more or less." "If you'd just ease up on the way you keep giving me the marble heart," continued Tod, dropping his voice to the key of tenderness, "I'd see to it that there'd never be a thing to make you blue. Everything would go your way. I'd see to it." Letitia looked at him with a little vexed frown. "Dear me, Tod!" she said crossly, "you're not going to propose to me here at dinner, are you, with everybody listening, too?" Tod looked round rather guiltily. Letitia had exaggerated. The only person who appeared to be noticing them was Mrs. Mortimer Gault, and her glance immediately slipped away from his to give the signal for withdrawal to a lady at the other end of the table. IV The colonel's visits now followed John Gault's with businesslike regularity. One week from the afternoon when the younger man had paid his last call, Colonel Reed had made his customary appearance and proffered his customary request. With each succeeding gift of money his spirits seemed to rise, his gracious bonhomie to become more pronounced. Upon this occasion he had said cheerfully, as he dropped the pieces of gold into his old chamois-skin purse: "It's these unconscionable tradespeople that eat up our resources! Why can't a provident government arrange things so that we don't have to pay butchers and bakers and milkmen? Life would be so much better worth while if we could spend our money on clothes and books and entertaining our friends than in paying bills. Now, this"--jingling the gold in the purse--"goes to a son of Belial who sells us groceries on tick." "Very kind of him, I should say," said the other. "Aren't you rather lucky to have such good credit?" "Well, that's what I think," said the colonel, throwing back his head and laughing like an old prince in whom the joy of life and the desire of the eyes still burned strong; "but Viola thinks credit is a trap set by the king of all the devils." "Women are apt to be cautious about that sort of thing." "I don't know about all women, but Viola is. She is more afraid of credit than she is of smallpox. But I say to her: 'My dear, look where we would have been without it! And as long as these good, charitable souls will give us food and drink for nothing, for goodness' sake let them do it. Don't let's try and suppress such a worthy impulse.' Not, of course," said the colonel, growing suddenly grave and squaring his shoulders, "that we don't intend to pay them. We always do. Sometimes, it is true, we're rather slow about it; but eventually things are squared off to everybody's satisfaction. How else could we have the credit?"