"Well, no, I wouldn't," I owned up. "The truth is, Miss Cullen, that I'd like to be rich, because--well, hang it, I don't care if I do say it--because I'm in love." Madge laughed at my confusion, and asked, "With money?" "No," I said. "With just the nicest, sweetest, prettiest girl in the world." Madge took a look at me out of the corner of her eye, and remarked, "It must be breakfast time." Considering that it was about six-thirty, I wanted to ask who was telling a taradiddle now; but I resisted the temptation, and replied,-- "No. And I promise not to bother you about my private affairs any more." Madge laughed again merrily, saying, "You are the most obvious man I ever met. Now why did you say that?" "I thought you were making breakfast an excuse," I said, "because you didn't like the subject." "Yes, I was," said Madge, frankly. "Tell me about the girl you are engaged to." I was so taken aback that I stopped in my walk, and merely looked at her. "For instance," she asked coolly, when she saw that I was speechless, "what does she look like?" "Like, like--" I stammered, still embarrassed by this bold carrying of the war into my own camp,--"like an angel." "Oh," said Madge, eagerly, "I've always wanted to know what angels were like. Describe her to me." "Well," I said, getting my second wind, so to speak, "she has the bluest eyes I've ever seen. Why, Miss Cullen, you said you'd never seen anything so blue as the sky yesterday; but even the atmosphere of 'rainless Arizona' has to take a back seat when her eyes are round. And they are just like the atmosphere out here. You can look into them for a hundred miles, but you can't get to the bottom." "The Arizona sky is wonderful," said Madge. "How do the scientists account for it?" I wasn't going to have my description of Miss Cullen side-tracked, for, since she had given me the chance, I wanted her to know just what I thought of her. Therefore I didn't follow lead on the Arizona skies, but went on,-- "And I really think her hair is just as beautiful as her eyes. It's light brown, very curly, and--" "Her complexion!" exclaimed Madge. "Is she a mulatto? And, if so, how can a complexion be curly?" "Her complexion," I said, not a bit rattled, "is another great beauty of hers. She has one of those skins--" "Furs are out of fashion at present," she interjected, laughing wickedly. "Now look here, Miss Cullen," I cried, indignantly, "I'm not going to let even you make fun of her." "I can't help it," she laughed, "when you look so serious and intense."