“If you ever marry,” said Roden, “do you think you will put up with that sort of thing?” “Sho!” she exclaimed, rising and pushing back her chair, which made a sharp sound on the polished oak of the floor. “I’ll never marry in _this_ world.” “Well, you certainly won’t in the next,” said Roden, smiling broadly; “that is, if you’re orthodox.” “What o’dox?” she said, pausing to question him, with one hand on the table. “Orthodox--if you believe all that the Bible tells you.” “Well, I don’t,” she said, quickly; “not by a long sight. I don’t believe all those things got into one place like that ark without killin’ each other clean out. An’ I don’t believe those b’ars eat them children for laughin’ at that ole feller’s bal’ head (I’ve laughed at many of ’em myself, an’ no b’ars ’ain’t ever eat me; an’ if ’twas right then, ’twould be right now). No, I cert’n’y ain’t or-or-orth’dox,” said Miss Virginia Herrick, beginning to clear away the supper-dishes. “You’re not commonplace, at all events,” Roden told himself, as, after having obtained her permission to smoke, he lighted a cigarette. It was now past eight o’clock, and still no signs of the recreant overseer. Roden occupied himself with putting many questions of a more business-like character to Miss Herrick, as she moved about the room restoring things to their proper places. He found that the little petticoats which ornamented the candles were some more of the things left by “the last Englishman;” and that the primroses and violets grew in what was called the “greenhouse,” a narrow glass-fronted corridor reaching along the front of the east wing of the house, and opening out of the dining-room. He said he would like to go in to look at it, and she at once conducted him there, carrying no candle, since a full-moon looked in at them through the lattice of the winter trees. A thick soft air, spongy with dampness, closed about them. The flowers rose dark and redolent on all sides. Roden could make out the large, bunchily growing leaves of a magnolia-tree outside, seen in rich relief against the dim sky. Roden, who had an artistic soul, found much pleasure in watching her. He was beginning to think that in her own unique way she was beautiful, and she was certainly shaped like a young caryatid. After she had answered various queries about house and out-house, niggers and stables, they returned to the dining-room, and lifting one of the tall candlesticks from a side-table, she opened one of the many doors. “I’m going to father’s room,” she announced; “’f you like you can come too. Most of ’em” (alluding probably to the preceding Englishmen)--“most of ’em liked to smoke there. I’ve got my spinnin’ an’ some things to do. Ef you want to stay here, there’s books.” She made a comprehensive sweep with her candleless hand in the direction of a low bookcase which ran around three sides of the room. “I think I’ll come with you, if you really don’t mind,” said Roden.