Thus their talk came to be of those things which lay remote from their hearts. It was Mrs. Nesbit's habit to read the paper and repeat the news to the Doctor, who sat beside her with a book. He jabbed in comments; she ignored them. Thus: "I see Grant Adams has been made head carpenter for all the Wahoo Fuel Companies mines and properties." To which the Doctor replied: "Grant, my dear, is an unusual young man. He'll have ten regular men under him--and I claim that's fine for a boy in his twenties--with no better show in life than Grant has had." But Mrs. Nesbit had in general a low opinion of the Doctor's estimates of men. She held that no man who came from Indiana and was fooled by men who wore cotton in their ears and were addicted to chilblains, could be trusted in appraising humanity. So she answered, "Yes," dryly. It was her custom when he began to bestow knighthood upon common clay to divert him with some new and irrelevant subject. "Here's an item in the _Times_ this morning I fancy you didn't read. After describing the bride's dress and her beauty, it says, 'And the bride is a daughter of the late H. M. Von Mueller, who was an exile from his native land and gave up a large estate and a title because of his participation in the revolution of '48. Miss Mueller might properly be called the Countess Von Mueller, if she chose to claim her rightful title!'--what is there to that?" The Doctor threw back his head and chuckled: "Pennsylvania Dutch for three generations--I knew old Herman Mueller's father--before I came West--when he used to sell kraut and cheese around Vincennes before the war, and Herman's grandfather came from Pennsylvania." "I thought so," sniffed Mrs. Nesbit. And then she added: "Doctor, that girl is a minx." "Yes, my dear," chirped the Doctor. "Yes, she's a minx; but this isn't the open season for minxes, so we must let her go. And," he added after a pause, during which he read the wedding notice carefully, "she may put a brace under Henry--the blessed Lord knows Henry will need something, though he's done mighty well for a year--only twice in eighteen months. Poor fellow--poor fellow!" mused the Doctor. Mrs. Nesbit blinked at her husband for a minute in sputtering indignation. Then she exclaimed: "Brace under Henry!" And to make it more emphatic, repeated it and then exploded: "The cat's foot--brace for Henry, indeed--that piece!" And Mrs. Nesbit stalked out of the room, brought back a little dress--a very minute dress--she was making and sat rocking almost imperceptibly while her husband read. Finally, after a calming interval, she said in a more amiable tone, "Doctor Nesbit, if you've cut up all the women you claim to have dissected in medical school, you know precious little about what's in them, if you get fooled in that Margaret woman." "The only kind we ever cut up," returned the Doctor in a mild, conciliatory treble, "were perfect--all Satterthwaites."