He went on speaking: "The whole labor trouble, it seems to me, lies in this whistle trade. A smattering of education has made labor dissatisfied. The laboring people are trying to get out of their place, and as a result we have strikes and lawlessness and disrespect for courts, and men going around and making trouble in industry by 'doing something for labor.'" "Yes," she replied, "that is very true." But her eyes--her big, liquid, animal eyes were saying, "How handsome you are--you man--you great, strong, masterful man with your brown ulster and brown hat and brown tie, and silken, black mustache." To which his eyes replied, "And you--you are superb, and such lips and such teeth," while what he trusted to words was: "Yes--I believe that the laborer in the mines, for instance, doesn't care so much about what we would consider hardship. It's natural to him. It would be hard for us, but he gets used to it! Now, the smelter men in that heat and fumes--they don't seem to mind it. The agonizing is done largely by these red-mouthed agitators who never did a lick of work in their lives." Their elbows touched for a moment as they walked. He drew away politely and her eyes said: "That's all right: I didn't mind that a bit." But her lips said: "That's what I tell Mr. Fenn, and, anyway, the work's got to be done and cultivated people can't do it. It's got to be done by the ignorant and coarse and those kind of people." His eyes flinched a little at "those kind" of people and she wondered what was wrong. But it was only for a moment that they flinched. Then they told her eyes how fine and desirable she looked, and she replied eyewise with a droop such as the old wolf might have used in replying to Red Riding Hood, "The better to eat you, my child." Then his voice spoke; his soft, false, vain, mushy voice, and asked casually: "By the way, speaking of Mr. Fenn--how is Henry? I don't see him much now since he's quit the law and gone into real estate." His eyes asked plainly: Is everything all right in that quarter? Perhaps I might-- "Oh, I guess he's all right," and her eyes said: That's so kind of you, indeed; perhaps you might-- But he went on: "You ought to get him out more--come over some night and we'll make a hand at whist. Mrs. Van Dorn isn't much of a player, but like all poor players, she enjoys it." And the eyes continued: But you and I will have a fine time--now please come--soon--very soon. "Yes, indeed--I don't play so well, but we'll come," and the eyes answered: That is a fair promise, and I'll be so happy. Then they flashed quickly: But Mrs. Van Dorn must arrange it. He replied: "I'll tell Mrs. Van Dorn you like whist, and she and you can arrange the evening."